•       •••••- 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


GARDEN  OF  ROSES. 


0toric0  an&  Skctdjcs. 


BY 

MAURICE    FRANCIS     EGAN. 


BOSTON: 

THOMAS    B.    NOONAN    &    CO. 
17,  19  AND  21  BOYLSTOX  ST. 

1887. 


COPYRIGHT: 
THOMAS  B.  NOONAN  &  CO. 

1887. 


CASHMAN,  KEATING  &  Co. 

ELECTROTYPERS    AND    PRINTERS, 

597  WASHINGTON  ST. 


Pz? 


CONTENTS. 


A  GARDEN  OF  EGSES 5 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  VIOLIN      43 

FLOATING  ON  A  BOAED 72 

JUNE  EOSES 81 

A  PASSION  FLOWER 89 

BLUFF'S  BOY 95 

A  SPRIG  OF  SHAMROCK 106 

A  GOOD  EXAMPLE 116 

A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN 131 

A  JUNE  DAY 137 

WILDE  BY  NAME  AND  WILD  BY  NATURE     ....  144 

THE  BOY  WHO  WANTED  TO  BE  OLD 152 

THE  LAST  MEETING  OF  THE  T.  I.  AND  B.  B.  E.'s   .  155 

A  DAY  AT  EIDGEWOOD 161 

GRACE  COURT 168 

WHAT  THEY  FOUND  IN  THE  COUNTRY 182 

BIANCA 205 

A  VACATION  TALK 221 

A  TALK  IN  THE  FALL 227 

HE  WANTED  TO  BE  A  CURIOSITY 233 

A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE 251 

AT  SCHOOL  AGAIN 261 

IN  POVERTY  HOLLOW         ,    .    .  266 


484053 

LIBRARY 


A  GARDEN  OF  ROSES. 


i. 


IT  was  a  rainy  day  —  a  rainy  day  in  the 
country.  The  roads  were  as  soft  as  quick- 
sands, and  the  air  so  misty  that  the  tops  of  the 
oaks  not  far  from  the  house  seemed  to  be 
blotted  entirely  from  the  landscape.  Outside, 
there  was  a  pleasant-looking  house,  with  a 
broad  and  wide  lawn  edged  by  an  old-fashioned 
border  of  boxwood.  Inside,  a  large  parlor, 
warmed  by  a  grate  fire ;  the  curtains  of  the 
windows  were  drawn,  to  keep  out  the  gray 
light,  and  a  softly  tinted  lamp  stood  on  the 
centre  table,  supplying  the  place  of  the  exiled 
daylight. 

Three  girls  were  the  occupants  of  the  parlor. 
One  — Margaret  —  had  thrown  down  her  book, 
and  was  lounging  on  a  comfortable   sofa,  her 
5 


STOHIES    AND    SKETCHES. 


arms  stretched  above  her  head  in  a  yawning 
attitude.  She  was  not  over  sixteen,  with  a 
straight  nose,  long-lashed  eyelids,  and  a  pale 
complexion.  Her  face  would  have  been  attrac- 
tive if  it  were  not  for  a  settled  expression  of 
discontent.  She  seemed  to  be  dreaming. 

Not  far  from  her,  on  a  low  stool,  with  a 
piece  of  embroidery  held  listlessly  in  her  hands, 
was  another  girl,  nearly  a  year  younger  than 
Margaret.  She  was  almost  blonde,  while 
Margaret  was  almost  brunette ;  they  each  re- 
presented extremes  of  that  common  type  which 
is  neither  blonde  nor  brunette.  She,  too, 
seemed  to  be  dreaming ;  and  her  dreams  ap- 
parently were  not  very  pleasant,  if  one  might 
judge  by  the  expression  of  her  face. 

A  third  girl,  still  younger,  sat  in  front  of  a 
cabinet-piano,  striking  a  few  notes  of  a  waltz, 
a  march,  or  a  galop ;  now  starting  off  into  a 
series  of  brilliant  movements  with  her  right 
hand,  and  then  suddenly  making  the  bass 
rumble  like  the  echo  of  a  departing  thunder- 
storm in  the  mountains.  She  was  evidently 
restless. 

Margaret,  Anna,  and  Rosalie  Wyckoff  were 
sisters.  Their  father  had  been  dead  four  years. 
He  died  suddenly,  cut  down  in  the  midst  of 


A    GARDEN    OF    ROSES. 


his  work,  leaving  his  business  affairs  very 
greatly  confused.  His  wife,  with  her  three 
daughters,  had  moved  to  the  only  property  of 
his  they  found  unencumbered.  It  was  in  the 
country,  one  hundred  miles  from  any  town. 
The  girls  found  it  dull,  after  the  bustle  of  the 
city.  Unhappily,  their  life  in  the  city  had 
made  them  older  than  their  real  age.  It  had 
been  a  gay  life.  Little  time  had  been  given 
to  thought  or  study,  but  much  to  social  calling, 
entertainments,  and  the  gossip  of  society,  in 
which  even  young  girls  unfortunately  become 
too  often  adepts. 

Their  mother  was  devoted  to  them.  No 
matter  how  ill  or  weary  she  might  be,  she 
would  hasten  to  save  them  from  the  necessity 
of  doing  anything  that  she  could  do.  They 
accepted  the  service  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Their  father  had  never  been  very  rich.  A 
certain  economy  had  always  been  necessary  in 
his  household ;  when,  in  the  winter,  the  ques- 
tion of  new  gowns  and  wraps  recurred,  it  was 
understood,  of  course,  that  the  girls  were  to 
have  the  most  costly  articles  of  that  kind ; 
while  their  mother  was  contented  to  take  what 
was  left  after  they  had  gotten  what  they  fancied 
they  needed. 


STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 


They  had  seal-skin  sacks  and  diamond  ear- 
rings ;  while  their  mother,  still  young,  and 
certainly  more  interesting  in  every  way  than 
her  daughters,  wore  cheap  garments.  But 
nobody  seemed  to  be  struck  by  the  strangeness 
of  this  arrangement.  It  was  not  singular  in 
their  set ;  it  was  the  rule  for  mothers  to  take 
the  second  place  even  before  their  daughters 
assumed  long  gowns. 

Mrs.  WyckofF  waited  on  her  children  assidu- 
ously —  sometimes  with  a  sigh,  as  she  reflected 
how  helpless  they  were  !  She  never  thought 
for  a  moment  that  they  were  lacking  in  duty 
or  respect.  They  were  only  helpless  in  her 
eyes,  nothing  more. 

Since  they  had  come  into  the  country,  Mrs. 
Wyckoff  was  obliged  to  exert  herself  more 
than  ever.  The  servants  the  "Wyckoffs  had 
employed  in  the  city  had  been  discharged,  and 
the  rougher  domestic  work  was  done  by  a 
Swedish  woman,  whose  manner  of  doing 
things  was  often  very  different  from  Mrs. 
Wyckoff's. 

The  girls  read,  embroidered,  played,  or 
idled  as  before.  They  had  more  time  on 
their  hands  now.  Their  city  occupations  were 
missing.  Mrs.  Wyckoffs  limited  income  pre- 


A    GARDEN    OF    ROSES.  9 

vented  her  from  keeping  a  horse  and  carriage. 
Anna  and  Rosalie  grumbled  privately  at  this. 
They  said  that  they  could  not  see  why  their 
mother  would  not  save  in  some  other  way. 
A  pony  carriage  would  have  helped  them  to 
enjoy  themselves  so  much,  and  it  really  cost 
very  little  to  keep  a  horse  in  the  country. 

Margaret,  more  sensible,  replied  that  this 
"  very  little"  was  lacking.  Anna  and  Rosalie 
did  not  believe  it;  it  was  "just  one  of  mam- 
ma's queer  ways,"  they  said. 


II. 


And  yet  they  were  affectionate  in  their  way. 
Rosalie  would  languidly  turn  her  head  from 
the  music  rack  as  her  mother  went  out  into  the 
back  garden  to  help  the  servant  take  down  the 
clothes  from  the  line,  and  wonder  why  "  mam- 
ma does  not  rest  herself  a  little."  It  did  not 
occur  to  her  to  offer  to  help  her  mother. 
Margaret  sometimes  offered  to  read  a  new 
book  —  Mrs.  "Wyckoff  often  stinted  in  a  hun- 
dred small  ways,  in  order  that  her  children 
should  have  new  books  and  magazines  —  but 


10  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

the  mother  had  no  time  to  listen.  This  made 
Margaret  somewhat  impatient. 

"No  time!"  she  murmured;  "mother  is 
too  busy  —  too  restless  ;  she  will  wear  herself 
out." 

And  she  was  wearing  herself  out  in  seeing 
that  the  dinners  and  teas  were  served  as  daintily 
as  possible,  and  that  her  daughters  were  kept 
away  from  the  petty  trials  of  life. 

Anna  had  a  taste  for  Art,  with  a  capital  A. 
She  painted  golden  rods  and  asters,  and  num- 
berless other  fashionable  flowers  on  plates; 
she  embroidered  long  strips  of  cloth  with  sun- 
flowers, and  hung  them  everywhere  in  the 
house.  She  left  the  business  of  making  her 
gowns  to  her  mother.  She  was  a  little  over 
fourteen  years  of  age,  and  girls  of  fourteen  are 
not  generally  expected  to  be  very  useful.  But, 
as  Anna  could  embroider  nicely,  it  seemed  as 
if  she  might  sew  quite  as  nicely,  with  a  little 
practice.  Her  Uncle  John  once  said  this. 
Anna  had  never  liked  him  since  ;  she  was  sure 
he  had  no  feeling  for  Art. 

No  attempt  had  been  made  to  educate  the 
girls  properly.  They  had  had  various  govern- 
esses ;  but,  although  Mrs.  Wyckoff  had  always 
insisted  upon  taking  them  to  the  Episcopal 


A    GARDEN    OF    ROSES.  11 

church    every    Sunday,   they  had    never  been 
instructed  in  the  duties  of  their  state  in  life. 

They  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  "  high 
aspirations,"  "the  duties  of  girlhood  and 
womanhood  to  the  world,"  and  "  the  necessity 
of  the  broadest  culture  ;  "  but  of  the  practical 
daily  duties  of  Christians  they  knew  nothing. 
Mrs.  Wyckoff  saw  that  something  was  Avrong  ; 
she  trembled  for  the  future  of  her  darlings  ; 
but  she  had  not  the  courage  to  tell  them  that 
they  were  living  in  a  fool's  paradise,  they  were 
such  dainty,  fragile  creatures  ! 

And  so  they  continued  to  do  what  their 
favorite  preacher  had  called  making  ' '  life 
beautiful."  He  had  not  intended  to  say  to 
them  that  they  should  neglect  useful  things  for 
those  that  were  only  ornamental ;  but  he  had 
preached  to  pews  filled  with  rich  people  and 
the  Wyckoffs  had  apparently  been  rich. 

Margaret  looked  around  the  room,  which 
ought  to  have  been  cheerful,  but  which  was 
not  cheerful.  There  was  the  warm,  bright 
grate  fire  ;  there  was  the  soft  lamp-light ;  there 
were  all  sorts  of  pretty  objects  in  the  room  — 
music,  autumn  flowers,  books.  And  }*et  the 
atmosphere  was  not  that  of  a  contented  house- 
hold. The  girl  threw  down  her  novel  and 


12  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

yawned ;  then  she  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out  on  the  sodden  lawn  and  the  damp 
masses  of  newly-fallen  leaves. 

"I  have  finished  that  novel  at  last!"  she 
said. 

"How  many  have  you  read  this  week, 
Madge?" 

"  Let  me  sec  :  ten,  Anna  —  ten  at  least." 

' '  And  I  am  sure  you  do  not  know  the  names 
of  the  characters  in  any  of  them." 

"You  are  wrong,  my  dear.  I  can  not  re- 
member the  names  of  the  other  nine  just  now, 
but  the  tenth  was  '  Lady  Adelaide's  Secret.' 
There  is  a  duke  in  it,  and  a  great  deal  about 
hunting  and  English  life.  Dear  me  !  I  wish  I 
lived  in  England !  They  have  such  lovely 
times  !  What  with  five-o'clock  teas  and  hunt- 
ing parties  and  luncheons,  they  enjoy  life. 
The  English  know  how  to  live  in  the  country." 

"  So  should  we  if  we  were  rich." 

* '  I  wish  we  were  rich  !  I  am  tired  of  being 
poor  —  I  am  tired  of  everything.  I  wish  I 
had  another  novel !  " 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  reconcile  this 
novel-reading  to  your  conscience,"  said  Rosalie, 
somewhat  sharply.  "It  ruins  the  memory, 
and  makes  one  discontented." 


A   GARDEN   OF   ROSES.  13 

"/  don't  see,  Rose,  how  you  can  reconcile 
your  eternal  practicing  of  pieces  of  music, 
which  you  never  finish,  to  your  conscience. 
You  waste  as  much  time  as  I  do,  and  you  are 
quite  as  discontented.  You  know  that  you 
said  the  other  day  you  would  rather  live  in  a 
garret  in  the  city  than  in  a  palace  here." 

"  I  did  not,  Madge.    I — " 

"Girls!  girls!"  said  a  soft  voice;  and 
Mrs.  Wyckoff's  gentle  face,  flushed  and  weary- 
looking,  appeared  at  the  door,  "  Do  not 
quarrel,  my  dears." 

"Rose  is  only  talking  nonsense,  mother, — 
we're  not  quarrelling.  Is  the  skirt  of  my 
black  gown  done  yet,  mamma?  You  said  I 
might  have  it  to-day." 

"Well,  Madge,"  began  Mrs.  Wyckoif,  apolo- 
getically, "I  have  not  had  time  to  touch  it. 
Hannah  was  busy  with  the  washing,  and  I  had 
to  hunt  for  eggs  in  the  barn  for  the  dessert,  you 
know ;  and  there  are  so  many  little  things  of 
which  you  girls  know  nothing.  Dear,  dear ! 
I  am  tired  !  " 

"We're  all  tired,  mamma.  I  wish  I  had 
something  to  do  !  " 

"  There  are  some  towels  that  want  hemming, 
Madge,"  said  Mrs.  Wyckoff,  with  a  sigh. 


14  STORIES   AND   SKETCHES. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  sew,  mamnia  !  I  mean  I  wish 
I  had  something  to  do  worthy  of  myself  and 
my  aspirations." 

"A  girl  of  sixteen  with  'aspirations  ! '"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Wyckoff,  with  an  amused  look. 
"  At  your  age  I  was  only  a  child." 

"Times  have  changed,  mamma,"  answered 
Margaret,  with  an  air  of  conceit  that  would 
have  tempted  a  less  fond  and  foolish  mother  to 
the  severest  possible  reprimand. 

"I  had  determined,"  Margaret  continued, 
"  to  help  you  in  my  own  way,  mamma.  I 
wrote  a  poem." 

Margaret  paused,  evidently  expecting  that 
this  announcement  would  be  received  with 
astonishment  and  awe. 

"  Oh,  that's  what  you  were  scribbling  about 
in  your  room  for  so  many  mornings,  was  it?" 
asked  Rosalie. 

"I  sent  it  to  five  editors.  It  was  rejected 
by  them  all." 

"  What  a  shame  !  "  cried  Anna.  "  I  am  sure 
you  can  write.  Look  at  those  Goodale  sisters, 
whose  names  appear  in  all  the  magazines. 
They're  not  much  older  than  we  are." 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  mamma,  I'll  read  it  to 
you  now  ?  " 


A   GARDEN   OF   ROSES.  15 

"  Thank  you,  Madge,"  said  Mrs.  Wyckoff, 
beaming  with  pride;  "but  just  wait  till  I  run 
down  and  see  if  the  kettle  is  boiling." 

"Oh,  the  sordid  cares  of  life!"  said  Mar- 
garet, tragically. 


III. 

Mrs.  Wyckoff  was  absent  longer  than  she 
had  intended.  The  girls  heard  a  carriage  stop 
at  the  door,  and  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the 
gravel  walk.  Then  the  bell  rang.  Margaret 
went  to  the  window,  but  she  could  see  only  a 
piece  of  a  woman's  gown  through  the  rails  of 
the  porch. 

The  bell  rang  again. 

"Who  can  it  be?"  asked  Eosalie.  "Han- 
nah is  so  busy  to-day,  why  doesn't  mamma 
open  the  door?" 

An  interval  of  silence  ;  then  sounds  of  greet- 
ing, a  pleasant  laugh,  and  light  footsteps  in 
the  hall. 

"  Why,  girls,"  cried  Mrs.  Wyckoff,  opening 
the  parlor  door,  "  it's  Philomena  !  " 

Philomena  was  a  trim  little  figure  dressed  in 


16  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

brown ;  she  had  thrown  off  her  wraps.  Her 
cheeks  were  red  from  the  sharp  air  outside. 
She  smiled  cheerily,  and  kissed  Margaret  on 
both  cheeks.  She  had  never  met  the  other 
girls  before ;  she  shook  hands  with  them. 
Her  brown  hair  was  smoothly  arranged ;  her 
neatness  of  head-dress  was  in  great  contrast  to 
the  Wyckoff's,  whose  heads  were  in  various 
conditions  of  dishevelment.  The  only  orna- 
ment she  wore  was  a  gold  medal  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  which  hung  below  her  close  collar. 

"How  comfortable  you  are  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
cheerily.  "This  is  really  like  a  home.  But 
I've  interrupted  you,"  she  continued,  noticing 
the  paper  in  Margaret's  hand. 

"  Madge  was  about  to  read  a  poem,"  said 
Anna,  with  an  air  of  subdued  pride. 

Margaret  cleared  her  throat. 

"  Do  go  on  with  it,  please,"  said  Philomena. 

"Would  you  mind  getting  me  a  glass  of 
water,  mamma  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

Mrs.  Wyckoff  rose  from  her  chair  as  a  matter 
of  course.  Philomena  looked  from  her  to  the 
girls  in  amazement.  She  stood  up  for  an 
instant,  and  then  sat  down  again.  A  moment 

fore  she  had  felt  in  her  heart  a  kindly 
armth  towards  her  cousins.  It  died  out 


A   GARDEN    OF  ROSES.  17 

suddenly.  She  looked  at  the  pretty  adorn- 
ments of  the  room  with  changed  eyes.  The 
"  home  feeling  "  had  gone  out  of  it. 

Mrs.  Wyckoff  brought  the  glass  of  water. 
Margaret  sipped  it,  and  began  in  a  clear,  sweet 
voice  : 

"  I  would  that  my  life  were  a  garden  of  roses, 

With  a  new  bud  open  to  light  each  day. 
(O  roses  of  June-time!  your  life  discloses 
Fre^li  perfume,  fresh  beauty  in  summer's  way.) 

"  I  would  make  my  life  a  garden  of  roses, 
But  keep  the  thorns  for  myself  alone. 
(O  rose  of  the  June-time  your  heart  encloses 
Sweet  thoughts  for  us,  though  fair  June  has  flown.) 

"  I  would  that  my  life  were  like  hidden  roses, 

Known  by  its  sweetness, — to  fade  away 
Gently,  gently  as  rose  life  closes, — 
To  live  for  others,  and  then  decay."  • 

Mrs.  Wyckoff  wiped  her  eyes.  "It's  very 
sweet,  dear  Madge  !  " 

Margaret  looked  at  her  cousin  for  approval. 
Philomena  repeated,  rather  coldly  : 

"  It's  very  sweet."  She  thought,  remember- 
ing the  episode  of  the  glass  cf  water,  "  She 
does  not  mean  it." 

' '  Life  offers  us  so  few  opportunities  of  mal^ 
ing  a  garden  of  roses  !  "  sighed  Margaret. 


18  STORIES  AND    SKETCHES. 

Philomena  laughed.  She  could  not  help  it. 
She  had  never  seen  a  girl  of  sixteen  assume 
such  a  lackadaisical  air. 

"The  Sisters  at  the  convent  told  us  that 
every  hour  offers  us  some  opportunity  of  living 
for  others,"  said  Philomena.  "I  want  to  tell 
you.  Aunt  Wyckoff,  why  I  have  come,  and  to 
ask  a  favor." 

"  After  tea,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wyckoff,  com- 
ing back  to  earth.  "  I  haven't  any  time,  dear. 
I  must  get  tea  myself.  Hannah  wants  to  milk 
the  cow.  After  tea,  dear." 

Margaret  went  back  to  the  window.  Rosalie 
and  Anna  drew  Philomena  into  a  corner,  and 
began  to  chat. 

' '  I  never  saw  such  girls  !  "  said  Philomena 
to  herself.  ' '  Don't  they  see  that  their  mother 
is  working  and  worrying  herself  to  death  ?  " 

"What  did  you  think  of  my  poem?"  said 
Margaret,  turning  suddenly.  "It  was  the 
crystallization  of  the  thought  of  a  lifetime." 

Philomena  laughed.  "  Pardon  me,  Cousin 
Madge,  but  I  am  sure  you  did  not  mean  it." 

The  girl  turned  away  with  an  air  of  offended 
genius. 

"It  is  very  pretty,"  said  Philomena,  apolo- 
getically, in  answer  to  Anna's  wrathful  glance  ; 


A    GARDEN    OF   ROSES.  19 

"but  it  lacks  sincerity.  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
mean  later." 

It  was  plain  to  Mrs.  Wyckoff,  at  the  tea 
table,  which  was  very  daintily  arranged,  that 
Philomena  had  made  a  bad  impression  on  the 
girls. 

She  loved  Philomena,  who  was  her  dead 
sister's  only  child.  She  and  Margaret  had 
visited  this  sister  when  Philomena  was  much 
younger,  and  Mrs.  "Wyckoff  cherished  fondly 
the  remembrance  of  that  last  precious  visit  to 
her  sister. 

"Am  I  to  stay?"  Philomena  asked,  helping 
her  aunt  to  some  cake,  and  smiling. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Wyckoff.  "You 
are  very  welcome.  I  see  from  your  father's 
letter  that  he  wants  you  to  stay  until  he  comes 
from  Europe.  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  like 
us  as  well  as  the  Nuns  at  the  convent." 

"  I  will  try  to,"  said  Philomena,  with  a  wist- 
ful sigh.  "  Ah,  the  dear  Sisters  I  You  know 
I  have  lived  with  them  ever  since  dear  mother 
died.  But  I  may  give  you  some  trouble  ?  " 

"It's  just  as  easy  to  work  for  four  as  for 
three,"  said  Mrs.  "Wyckoff.  "And  Margaret 
thought,  "the  payment  for  board  will  help 
mamma." 


20  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"But  I  will  help  you!"  cried  Philomena; 
only  let  me  stay ! "  And  then  she  quoted, 
rather  mischievously : 

"  I  would  make  my  life  a  garden  of  roses, 
But  keep  the  thorns  for  myself  alone." 


IV. 

Philomena  found  the  first  three  days  of  her 
visit  very  wearisome.  She  arose  early  to  find 
Mrs.  Wyckoff  hard  at  work  in  the  kitchen  or 
dairy.  The  young  ladies  did  not  usually  come 
down  stairs  until  after  nine  o'clock.  Philomena 
enjoyed  her  morning  walk  to  Mass.  The  road 
ran  by  the  lake  and  through  well-kept  vegetable 
gardens.  She  came  back  with  bright  eyes  and 
rosy  cheeks.  Her  cousins  came  languidly  down 
without  animation  or  appetite. 

After  breakfast,  the  girls  left  the  table  as  it 
was,  and  went  to  their  favorite  lounging  place, 
the  parlor.  Margaret  took  up  her  novel,  or 
tried  to  evolve  another  poem  from  her  inner 
consciousness;  Rosalie  "  improvised,"  as  she 
called  it :  which  meant  playing  snatches  of  nearly 


A    GARDEN    OF    ROSES.  21 

every  composition  she  had  ever  seen  or  heard ; 
and  Anna  put  in  or  picked  out  embroidery 
stitches. 

Philomena  found  the  mornings  spent  in  this 
manner  very  tiresome.  The  autumn  air  was 
crisp  and  refreshing,  the  scent  of  the  pines  de- 
lightful. She  saw  Mrs.  Wyckoff  digging  po- 
tatoes in  the  back  garden.  She  longed  to  help 
the  poor  lady,  who  seemed,  as  usual,  weary  and 
worn  out.  Her  impulse  was  to  snatch  the  big 
sunbonnet  from  her  aunt's  head,  and  go  to  work 
with  a  will.  She  liked  the  occupations  of  her 
cousins  much  better  than  manual  work  ;  but  she 
saw  how  cruel,  how  unnatural  it  was  that  the 
mother  should  drudge  day  after  day,  while  the 
children  took  their  ease.  The  parlor  could 
never  be  pleasant  to  her  as  things  were.  A  thous- 
and times  would  she  prefer  to  dig  potatoes  in 
the  rain,  to  trudge  through  the  mud  for  the 
eggs  that  the  hens  hid  so  carefully,  to  help  the 
careless  Hannah  in  all  her  menial  work,  rather 
than  to  see  her  aunt  wearing  herself  away.  The 
good  Sisters,  to  whom  Philomena  had  been 
committed  early  in  life,  had  taught  her  that  the 
most  menial  work  done  at  the  call  of  duty,  for 
our  Lord's  sake,  became  noble  and  worthy. 
She  had  not  learned  in  vain  the  life  of  the 


22  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

Blessed  Virgin.  She  had  been  made  to  ponder 
over  the  Magnificat.  Hannah's  work,  in  all  its 
petty  details,  was  beautiful  in  the  light  of  the 
Queen-Mother's  smile. 

How  could  these  girls  fail  to  see  the  sin  of 
leaving  their  mother,  sick  and  weak,  to  face  all 
the  rough  little  trials  of  life?  Philomena  asked 
herself  this  question  over  and  over  again.  She 
wanted  to  help  her  aunt,  but  she  dared  not 
oifer  to  do  it  yet.  It  would  look  like  the  cast- 
ing of  a  reproach  on  her  cousins.  Hannah, 
who  had  long  been  complaining  that  the  frills 
and  flounces  and  fancies  of  the  young  ladies 
gave  her  too  much  to  do,  left  the  third  day 
after  Philomena  came.  Then  she  had  said  to 
her  aunt : 

"I  will  go,  too;  I  know  that  I  shall  be  a 
burden  to  you." 

Mrs.  Wyckoff  looked  hopelessly  at  the  con- 
fusion of  the  kitchen  and  dining-room  —  Hannah 
had  gone  suddenly. 

"What  did  you  say,  dear?" 

"I  had  better  return  to  the  convent.  The 
Sisters  have  little  room  now,  but  I  know  that 
they  will  keep  me  until  father  comes  back. 
Perhaps  they  could  make  me  useful  in  some 
way." 


A   GARDEN   OF   ROSES.  23 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Wyckoff,  eagerly.  "You 
must  stay.  I  love  to  have  you,  dear ;  besides, 
I  don't  know  how  I  could  make  both  ends 
meet,  if  it  were  not  for  the  money  you  will 
pay  for  your  board." 

Philomena  wa^  surprised.  The  house  was  so 
luxurious,  the  girls  so  idle,  books,  musical 
pieces  so  plenty,  that  this  confession  of  poverty 
seemed  strange.  Philomena  returned  to  the 
parlor,  to  find  her  cousins  occupied  as  usual. 
Rosalie  had  set  Margaret's  poem  to  music  ;  she 
was  singing  as  Philomena  entered  : 

"  I  would  that  my  life  were  like  hidden  roses, 

Known  by  its  sweetness, — to  fade  away 
Gently,  gently  as  rose-life  closes, — 
To  live  for  others,  and  then  decay!  " 

Philomena  felt  an  impulse  of  anger.  She 
was  inclined  to  speak  her  mind  to  these  people, 
so  well  satisfied  with  themselves,  but  so  dis- 
contented with  their  lot  in  life.  She  restrained 
herself,  murmuring  her  usual  little  prayer ;  for 
Philomena  had  temptations  to  impatience  ;  she 
liked  to  burst  into  anger  once  in  awhile.  She 
said  with  a  smile  : 

"Why,  Madge,  you  have  put  your  mother's 
life  into  poetry !" 


24  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"Mamma's  life  is  anything  but  a  poem;  it 
is  all  prose,"  said  Margaret,  loftily.  "I  wish 
I  could  gain  riches  and  fame  by  my  talent ;  I 
would  make  her  life  a  poem  of  infinite  splen- 
dor— full  of  those  gold  and  crimson  harmonies 
of  colors  that  one  finds  in  the  old  cathedral 
windows  of  your  churches  over  the  sea." 

"Have  you  ever  seen  one?  asked  Philomena. 

"No,"  answered  Margaret,  coloring.  "No; 
not  exactly.  I  have  seen  them  in  my  dream- 
life." 

"  Oh  !"  Philomena  said. 

"What  is  your  specialty,  Cousin  Philome- 
na?" Anna  asked.  "Do  you  ever  embroider?" 

"Oh,  yes;  in  the  afternoon.  We  have  to 
do  all  our  serious  work  in  the  morning,  you 
know.  At  the  convent,  embroidery  was  a  kind 
of  play." 

Rosalie  and  Anna  looked  at  each  other,  and 
said  with  their  eyes,  "No  feeling  for  art !" 

"I  have  heard,"  Margaret  said,  laying  down 
her  novel,  and  taking  her  favorite  yawning 
attitude,  "that  convent  girls  get  only  a  smat- 
tering of  things — acquire  only  a  superficial 
idea  of  the  world's  great  possibilities." 

Margaret  was  paying1  her  cousin  back  for 
her  late  frank  question. 


A    GARDEN    OF    KOSES.  25 

"We  do  not  learn  to  talk  as  you  talk,  Cousin 
Madge  ;  we  are  taught  that  the  highest  aspira- 
tion a  woman  can  have  is  to  love  and  serve  God 
in  the  state  of  life  in  which  He  has  placed  her. 
I  don't  know  much  about  education  myself; 
but  I  do  know,-  without  being  able  to  make 
comparisons  of  the  different  systems,  that  the 
Sisters  keep  young  girls  good  and  pure.  We 
are  not  taught  to  appear  older  than  we  are. 
But,  Madge,"  she  added,  blushing,  "you  must 
not  take  me  as  an  example.  I  wish  you  could 
know  some  of  our  girls  !  They  do  credit  to 
the  Sisters." 

"  I  should  think  you'd  put  your  whole  soul 
into  your  embroidery,  if  you  did  it  at  all,"  said 
Anna,  putting  an  unnatural  eye  into  a  pea- 
cock's feather. 

"  Soul?"   asked  Philomena,  in  surprise. 

"Certainly,"  said  Anna,  with  an  ape-like 
air  of  affectation,  and  in  a  parrot-like  voice. 

Philomena  made  no  reply.  This  was  a  new 
language.  What  she  had  done,  she  had  done 
simply  and  well,  without  talking  much  about 
it.  Indeed,  the  girls  at  the  convent  had  pre- 
ferred to  be  quiet  on  embroidery  afternoons, 
because  French  conversation  was  then  the  rule. 

"  Do  you  find,"  asked  Margaret,  who  had  in 


26  STORIES   AND    SKETCHES. 

the  meantime  dipped  into  her  novel  again, 
"that  your  religion  colors  your  life?  In  mine, 
religion  has  always  been  somewhat  of  a  thing 
apart." 

Philomena  raised  her  head  in  surprise. 

"I  am  a  Catholic,  Cousin  Madge.  Father 
said  when  he  sent  me  to  the  convent  that  he 
wanted  me  to  be  a  Catholic  —  I  was  a  little 
girl  then  —  because  Catholics  remembered  God 
every  hour  of  their  life,  and  prayed  daily  to  be 
remembered  by  His  Mother  at  the  hour  of  their 
death.  Why,  Madge,  religion  is  our  life." 

Philomena,  who  was  reserved  on  matters 
near  her  heart,  left  the  room  to  hide  her  emo- 
tion. She  came  back  in  a  few  minutes,  bring- 
ing a  roll  of  velvet  in  her  hand. 

"  This  is  part  of  a  curtain  for  the  decorating 
of  the  repository  on  Holy  Thursday." 

Anna  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment 
and  admiration  as  the  ruby  velvet,  embroidered 
with  gorgeous  arabesques  of  gold,  was  unrolled. 

"  Did  you  do  that?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

Margaret  and  Rosalie  gazed  at  the  intricate 
pattern  with  admiration,  and  Anna  said  : 

"  Do  teach  me  that  stitch,  Cousin  Philo- 
mena ! " 


A    GARDEN    OF    ROSES.  27 

"  With  pleasure." 

After  this  the  girls  treated  Philoraena  with 
some  consideration  ;  and  when  she  played  the 
overture  to  Semiramide  without  a  mistake 
(Rosalie  always  slurred  over  parts  of  this 
great  "show"  piece,  by  improvising  the  bass 
part),  Margaret  offered  her  some  caramels. 
Even  Margaret,  superior  as  she  was,  had  her 
weaknesses. 

One  afternoon  the  three  girls  went  out  to 
gather  autumn  leaves.  Philomena  could  give 
a  good  reason  for  staying  at  home.  As  soon 
as  her  cousins  were  out  of  sight,  Philomena 
ran  into  the  kitchen.  She  found  her  aunt 
almost  reduced  to  desperation  by  the  amount 
of  work  that  had  accumulated  since  Hannah's 
withdrawal  from  the  domestic  scene. 

Mrs.  Wyckoff  brightened  up  at  the  sight  of 
her  niece. 

"  Now,  you  sit  down  in  that  rocking  chair, 
aunt;  I'm  going  to  have  a  '  good  work.'" 

She  pushed  Mrs.  Wyckoff  into  the  old- 
fashioned  rocker,  and,  putting  on  a  big  apron, 
went  to  work.  Difficulties  disappeared  before 
her  willing  and  skilful  hands. 

Mrs.  Wyckoff  protested.  "You'll  spoil  your 
hands,"  she  said. 


28  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"  My  hands  are  no  better  than  yours,  aunt," 
retorted  Philomena.  "  Can't  I  work  as  well  as 
Hannah?  And  I  am  going  to  make  cake  for 
tea.  My  cake  took  a  prize  at  the  convent." 

Mrs.  Wyckoff  at  length  accepted  the  situa- 
tion. She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and 
gradually  went  to  sleep.  The  tired  look  faded 
from  her  face,  and  she  appeared  serene  and 
placid,  as  Philomena  remembered  her  in  other 
days. 

Tears  rose  to  the  girl's  eyes.  She  stooped 
and  kissed  her  aunt  on  the  forehead.  Mrs. 
Wyckoff  awoke  at  the  slight  touch.  She 
caught  Philomena's  hand  in  hers. 

"I  wish,  dear,"  she  said,  as  if  half  ashamed, 
"I  wish  you  would  try  to  teach  my  girls  to  be 
more  helpful — for  their  own  sakes.  They  do 
not  like  the  work  of  every-day  life." 

"  I  do  not  like  it,  aunt,"  said  Philomena,  a 
little  embarassed  ;  ' '  but  I  have  been  taught  to 
hold  it  a  sin  if  I  neglected  even  the  most  un- 
pleasant duties  of  my  state  in  life.  If  I  were 
not  a  Catholic,  aunt,  I  should  never  do  rough 
work,  or  keep  my  temper,  or  do  anything  I 
did  not  want  to  do.  I  am  naturally  a  very 
idle,  impatient  girl ;  I  am  indeed." 

Mrs.  AYyckofl'  smiled.     She  watched  Philo- 


A   GARDEN    OF    ROSES.  29 

mena  as  she  made  her  cake  and  put  it  into 
the  oven.  The  bell  rang.  Mrs.  Wyckoff 
jumped  up. 

"No,  no!"  said  Philomena ;  "you  keep 
still,  aunt,  and  watch  the  cake." 

The  girl  threw  aside  her  white  apron,  and 
ran  to  the  door.  In  about  twenty  minutes  she 
came  back. 

"Oh,  aunt,"  she  cried,  "it  was  Mrs.  d'Eresby, 
who  lives  at  Redlands.  The  Mother  Superior 
sent  her  a  note  saying  that  I  was  one  of  her 
children,  and  that  Mrs.  d'Eresby  ought  to  be 
nice  to  me  ;  so  she — Mrs.  d'Eresby — drove 
over  to  ask  us  to  go  with  her  on  Sunday  to  the 
consecration  of  a  new  Catholic  church  twenty 
miles  across  the  country.  She  wants  you  and 
one  of  the  girls  and  me  to  go  with  her.  Will 
you  go  into  the  parlor  and  say  yes  for  us  all?" 

"  I  can't  go  in:  my  hair  is  all  in  a  tangle; 
but  you  may  excuse  me,  and  say  yes." 

Philomena  ran  off. 

"  Aunt  means  to  decline  in  favor  of  one  of 
the  girls,  but  I  will  not  let  her,"  said  Philomena 
to  herself,  as  she  saw  Mrs.  d'Eresby  to  the 
door. 


30  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 


V. 


Margaret,  Eosalie  and  Anna  returned  from 
their  walk,  laden  with  bundles  of  richly  tinted 
leaves.  At  once  they  set  to  work  to  make 
tasteful  decorations  of  them. 

Margaret  was  in  great  good  humor.  They 
had  met  Mrs.  Treverne,  a  neighbor,  who  was 
supposed  to  be  a  person  of  literary  taste.  Mar- 
garet had  read  her  poem  very  effectively,  and 
Mrs.  Treverne  had  offered  to  have  it  printed  for 
her  in  the  Redlands  Daily  Eagle. 

Philomena,  sure  that  Mrs.  Wyckoft's  hard- 
est work  was  done,  volunteered  to  assist  her 
cousins  in  their  dainty  tasks,  on  condition  that 
she  might  have  some  wonderfully  red  maple 
leaves  for  the  little  shrine  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin in  her  room. 

Margaret  smiled  at  this  request  in  a  superior 
manner,  that  made  her  seem  thirty-two  instead 
of  sixteen. 

"I  hold,  with  Matthew  Arnold,  that  the 
truest  effect  of  religion  is  lucidity,"  she  said, 
making  a  cross  of  maple  and  beech  leaves. 
"To  be  lucid  is  to  be  religious." 


A   GARDEN   OF   ROSES.  31 

' '  Then  why  are  you  not  lucid  ? "  demanded 
Philomena,  losing  patience. 

"Am  I  not — in  my  life?  Our  friend,  Mrs. 
Treverne,  says  that  my  life  is  as  lucid  a  life 
as  that  of  any  girl  she  knows." 

"Your  words/ -are  not.  I  wonder  if  you 
know  what  they  mean?  /  don't." 

Rosalie  and  Anna  turned  at  their  cousin  with 
reproachful  eyes.  After  all,  no  matter  what 
they  might  think  of  her  sayings,  Margaret  was 
the  genius  of  the  family,  and  she  ought  to  be 
respected  accordingly  —  by  strangers. 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  rude,"  continued  Philo- 
mena, coloring  slightly,  and  keeping  her  eyes 
on  the  leaves  in  her  hand ;  "  but  I  do  hate  silly 
bits  taken  from  novels  and  given  out  as  if  they 
were  Gospel ! " 

Margaret  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  When 
you  have  more  acquaintance  with  cultured 
people  you  will  be  less  of  a  Philister.  The 
quotation  I  made  the  other  day  was  from 
'  Ouida ' ;  it  was  only  an  echo  of  George 
Eliot  —  " 

"'Ouida'!"  cried  Philomena;  "a  girl  of 
sixteen  talking  of  '  Ouida ' !  I'd  be  ashamed 
to  do  it.  The  Sisters  put  her  books  on  the 
condemned  list.  The  truth  is,  Cousin  Mar- 


32  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

garet,  if  you  read  fewer  silly  books,  and 
helped  your  mother  more,  you  would —  " 

Here  Philomena  remembered  her  tendency 
to  impatience,  and  paused.  "  I  beg  pardon  !  " 
she  said. 

"  Mother  does  not  want  us  to  help  her," 
Anna  answered. 

"  She  needs  your  help,  nevertheless.  By 
the  way,"  Philomena  continued,  very  glad  to 
change  the  subject,  "Mrs.  d'Eresby  called 
this  afternoon. 

"Mrs.  d'Eresby!" 

This  lady  was  the  most  eminent  inhabitant 
of  that  part  of  the  country.  To  be  called  on 
by  her  was  an  honor.  Every  locality  has  its 
eminent  inhabitants ;  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
they  are  all  as  courteous,  humble  and  truthful 
as  Mrs.  d'Eresby,  whose  late  conversion  to  the 
Church  had  given  the  whole  neighborhood  a 
shock. 

Margaret  at  once  concluded  that  her  fame 
must  have  brought  about  this  unexpected 
event.  Perhaps  Mrs.  d'Eresby  had  heard  of 
her  poem  in  some  accidental  way. 

Philomena  explained.  "  And  she  has  three 
vacant  places  in  her  carriage  for  next  Sunday 
There  will  be  a  jn-and  consecration 


A    GARDEN    OF   ROSES.  33 

ceremony  at  Compton.     An  Archbishop   will 
be  there,  and  the  music  will  be  grand." 

"I  hope  mamma  will  have  time  to  fix  up 
my  black  silk,"  said  Margaret.  "lam  sorry 
Mrs.  d'Eresby  could  not  have  seats  for  all  of 
us.  I  am  dying  to  make  her  acquaintance. 
She  gives  the  loveliest  garden  parties  !  " 

Philomena  was  taken  aback  by  this  cool 
method  of  crowding  out  Mrs.  Wyckoff. 

' '  Your  mother  has  not  been  out  for  a  drive 
for  many  weeks.  She  does  not  have  tune  to 
go  to  her  church  on  Sundays." 

"  She  does  not  mind,"  answered  Margaret, 
carelessly.  "  She  would  rather  see  us  enjoy 
ourselves." 

"But  Mrs.  d'Eresby  did  not  invite  'us,'" 
said  Philomena,  her  impatience  rising  again. 
"  She  asked  particularly  for  my  aunt,  and 
begged  me  to  invite  her  and  Rosalie,  because 
I  said  Rosalie  was  the  musical  one." 

Margaret  smiled.  "You  do  not  know 
mamma,  my  dear.  She  will  not  go.  She  is 
a  dear  little  mother,  but  she  could  no  more 
hold  her  own  in  conversation  with  a  <  grande 
e/awze'like  Mrs.  d'Eresby  than — well  —  than 
you  could.  She  will  not  go.  " 

"Then   nobody  will   go  from  this  house." 


34  STOKIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

Philomena  uttered  this  speech,  and  turned 
her  face  towards  the  window,  her  color  rising. 

"  Come,  Kose,"  said  Margaret,  loftily  ;  "let 
us  try  my  poem  as  a  duo." 

"  I  would  that  my  life  were  a  garden  of  roses, 
With  a  new  bud  open  to  light  each  day  —  " 

"What  mockery!"  thought  Philomena. 
She  went  up  to  her  room  and  cried.  She 
knelt  a  moment  before  her  statue  and  said 
an  act  of  contrition.  "When  shall  I  learn 
patience  ?  "  she  asked  herself. 

The  tea-bell  rang.  Philomena  looked  at 
her  face  in  the  glass,  and  then  turned  in  dis- 
gust to  wipe  the  tear-stains  away  — 

' '  You're  a  nice  teacher  —  you  are  !  You 
want  to  improve  other  people,  and  you  can- 
not even  keep  your  temper  !  " 

Before  Philomena  had  reached  the  tea- 
table  it  was  settled  that  Margaret  should  go 
with  Mrs.  d'Eresby,  instead  of  her  mother. 

"  I  will  make  my  excuses  to  Mrs.  d'Eresby 
when  she  comes,  Philomena ;  and  honestly, 
dear,  I  have  nothing  to  wear." 

Philomena's  cheeks  burned.  After  a  while 
she  raised  her  eyes  from  her  plate.  She  had 
a  struggle,  and  she  conquered,  saying  to  her- 


A    GARDEN   OF   ROSES.  35 

self,  out  of  the  "  Following  of  Christ :  "  "  And 
they  who  freely  and  willingly  serve  Me,  shall 
receive  grace  for  grace." 

"Margaret,"  she  said,  her  voice  trembling 
a  little,  "  if  you  will  give  me  your  black  silk 
gown  to-night  I  am  sure  I  can  make  it  like 

O  O 

the  one  Mrs.  d'Eresby  wore  the  other  day." 

Margaret  was  delighted.  "  Mother  is  some- 
what old-fashioned  in  her  ways,  you  know." 

That  evening  Rosalie  seemed  rather  thought- 
ful. "  There  is  something  in  Philomena's 
religion  that  is  noble,"  she  said  to  Anna. 
"  But  Margaret  says  she  is  not  lucid." 
"  Bosh  !  You  know  that  Margaret  has  heard 
that  word  somewhere.  She  does  not  know 
what  it  means.  Philomena's  religion  seems 
real.  It  makes  her  give  up  things.  She  is 
hard  at  work  at  Margaret's  dress  now.  I  saw 
her  saying  her  beads  this  morning,  and  I  felt 
that  she  was  really  speaking  to  God.  Now, 
Anna,  you  know  we  always  seein  to  be  praying 
at  God.  Don't  you  think  we  might  help 
mamma  to  wash  the  tea-things  ?  " 

"  She  does  not  want  us  to  spoil  our  hands." 
"  I  am  going  to  help  her,  anyhow." 
Anna  looked  after  her  sister  in  amazement. 
Mrs.  "VVyckoff  had  a  little  time  to  sit  on  the 


36  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

porch  and  watch  the  sunset  that  evening. 
Rosalie's  offer  to  help  her  had  lightened  her 
heart. 


VI. 

So  far  as  Margaret  was  concerned,  the  drive 
with  Mrs.  d'Eresby  was  a  failure.  She  was 
surprised  to  find  that  the  lady  seemed  to  prefer 
her  mother's  company  to  hers.  Mrs.  d'Eresby 
accepted  Mrs.  AYyckofFs  excuses  reluctantly, 
but  civilly  took  her  substitute.  Mrs.  Wyckoff 
seemed  quite  at  home  with  her  visitor,  and  her 
visitor,  to  Philomena's  great  joy,  was  delighted 
with  her. 

"You  have  a  very  charming  mother,"  Mrs. 
d'Eresby  said,  as  the  carriage  drove  off.  "  I 
hope  that  you  young  ladies  may  grow  up  like 
her." 

Margaret  was  not  prepared  for  this.  The 
idea  of  the  elegant  Mrs.  d'Eresby  offering  poor, 
prosaic  mamma  as  a  model  ! 

Margaret  monopolized  Mrs.  d'Eresby,  while 
Philomena  and  Rosalie  chatted, — the  former  try- 
ing to  explain  to  her  cousin  the  details  of  the 


A   GARDEN   OF   ROSES.  37 

august  ceremony  of  the  consecration  of  a 
church. 

Mrs.  d'Eresby  was  very  courteous.  Mar- 
garet repeated  her  poem,  and  waited  for  ap- 
plause. 

"  '  I  would  make  my  life  a  garden  of  roses, 
And  keep  the  thorns  for  myself  alone,'  " 

quoted  Mrs.  d'Eresby,  with  a  significant  look. 
"  Beautiful  —  if  it  is  lived  up  to.  I  wonder  if 
your  mother  feels  it  a  thorn  to  lose  her  drive 
to-day  ?  I  suppose  not ;  mothers  are  used  to 
sacrifices." 

Rosalie  heard  this  and  blushed.  Margaret 
was  proof  against  it.  She  made  some  of  her 
best  quotations  and  talked  about  human  as- 
pirations and  altruism. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  d'Eresby,  gently,  "  I 
am  an  old  woman,  and  I  have  seen  a  great  deal 
of  the  world,  but  I  do  not  understand  what  you 
mean,  and  I  should  feel  sorry  if  I  thought  you 
did.  If  we  remain  for  Vespers,  you  will  hear 
the  choir  sing  the  Magnificat.  It  is  worth 
more  to  a  woman,  young  or  old,  than  all  your 
new  literary  lights.  —  See,  Philomena  !  There 
is  a  late  wild  rose  by  that  fence.  Here,  Fred- 


38  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

erick,"  she  said  to  her  coachman,  "get  that 
rose  for  me." 

She  broke  off  the  briars,  and  gave  it  to  Philo- 
mena,  saying,  with  a  smile,  "  I  will  '  keep  the 
thorns  for  myself  alone.' " 

But  Margaret  was  not  conciliated  by  this 
quotation.  She  did  not  speak  during  the  rest 
of  the  drive. 

Rosalie  eagerly  drank  in  the  grand  music 
and  solemn  ceremonies.  They  fulfilled  her 
idea  of  what  worship  ought  to  be. 

Margaret  prepared  to  be  very  critical  about 
the  sermon,  but  she  forgot  her  intention  before 
it  was  over.  There  was  no  rhetoric,  no 
"  lucidity."  It  was  a  plain  sermon  on  the 
everyday  duties  of  life.  It  made  Margaret 
feel  uncomfortable.  She  wished  that  she  had 
not  come. 

Rosalie  listened  tremblingly  to  the  priest, 
who  spoke  with  no  doubting  voice.  When  the 
sermon  was  over,  she  drew  a  long  breath. 
Philomena  sat  next  to  her. 

"  Cousin,"  she  whispered,  "  I  have  been  very 
blind.  I  see  that  we  do  best  when  we  do  not 
look  abroad  for  imaginary  duties,  but  do  those 
nearest  us." 

Philomena  clasped  her  cousin's  hand  in  reply. 


A    GARDEN    OF    ROSES.  39 

Mrs.  Wyckoff  had  worried  herself  almost 
sick  in  getting  a  tea  ready  worthy  of  the  ex- 
cursionists. But  Mrs.  d'Eresby  graciously 
declined,  leaving  an  invitation  for  them  all  to 
her  next  musicale,  which,  as  she  explained,  was 
a  quiet  gathering. 

During  the  following  week  Philomena  and 
Rosalie  saved  Mrs.  Wyckoff  a  great  many 
steps.  Rosalie  became  so  cheerful  that  she 
even  wondered  at  herself.  Philomena  was  de- 
lighted to  satisfy  Rosalie's  curiosity  regarding 
the  doctrines  of  the  Church,  awakened  by  the 
ceremony  of  the  consecration. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  become  a  Catholic, 
mamma?"  Rosalie  asked  one  afternoon,  when 
the  three  were  merrily  engaged  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Very  much,  dear,  if  it  would  make  you  like 
Philomena  here.  Do  you  know,"  her  mother 
said  seriously,  "I  believe  I  would  become  a 
Catholic  myself,  if  I  had  time  to  think  !  But  I 
never  have  time,"  she  added,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Rose  and  I  will  give  you  time  now,"  Philo- 
mena said,  kissing  her  aunt's  worn  hand. 

Margaret  and  Anna  varied  their  life  in  the 
parlor  with  frequent  visits  to  their  friend  Mrs. 
Treverne.  It  was  a  week  from  the  night  of 
Mrs.  d'Erebsy's  musicale.  She  sent  over  to 


40  STORIES  AND   SKETCHES. 

invite  Philomena  and  Rosalie  to  spend  a  few 
days  with  her.  Mrs.  Treverne,  who  sympa- 
thized with  Margaret's  "  aspirations, "consoled 
her  by  ridiculing  Mrs.  d'Eresby's  bad  taste  in 
inviting  Philomena  and  Rosalie. 

Philomena  refused  to  go  at  first,  but  Mrs. 
Wyckoff  begged  her  so  vehemently  not  to  dis- 
appoint Mrs.  d'Eresby,  and  not  to  deprive 
Rosalie  of  the  pleasure  of  the  visit,  that  she 
consented  at  last. 

Margaret  was  resolved  that  she  should  make 
a  good  appearance  at  the  musicale.  It  was 
to  be  a  very  quiet  assemblage,  or  else  Mrs. 
d'Eresby  would  not  have  asked  girls  so  young 
as  to  have  no  right  in  general  society.  Mar- 
garet kept  her  mother  very  busy  rearranging 
old  laces  and  stuffs.  Mrs.  Wyckoff  planned, 
sewed,  and  ironed  late  into  the  night.  Anna's 
dress  was  a  secondary  consideration ;  but  it, 
too,  required  attention  and  time.  Margaret 
was  very  particular,  she  found  fault  inces- 
santly. 

Mrs.  Wyckoff  had  tacked  up  a  little  picture 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Philomena  had  given 
her.  It  was  on  the  wall  over  the  ironing- 
board.  Underneath  it  were  the  words,  "0 
Sainte  Mere,  priez  pour  moi!"  Her  eyes  rested 


A    GARDEN    OF  ROSES.  41 

on  it  often,  and  she  repeated  the  words  "If  I 
only  had  time  to  think  ! "  Now  she  had  less 
time  than  usual.  No  servant  to  replace  Hannah 
had  been  found.  The  Indian  summer,  with  its 
hectic  heat,  had  come. 

The  day  before  the  musicals  was  hotter  than 
usual.  Mrs.  Wyckoff,  standing  at  the  ironing- 
board,  felt  her  head  reel.  "  Oh,  that  Philo- 
mena  or  Rosalie  were  home  ! "  As  if  in  the 
distance,  she  could  hear  Margaret  singing, 

"Gently,  gently  as  rose-life  closes, — 
To  live  for  others  and  then  decay.  " 

It  was  so  hot !  She  could  dimly  see  Philo- 
mena's  little  picture.  "  0  Sainte  Mere — "  she 
began.  She  sank  to  the  floor,  dropping  the 
smoothing-iron  from  her  hand. 

Anna  heard  the  fall,  and  ran  down  stairs. 
Margaret's  song  was  interrupted  by  her  shriek. 
Their  mother's  work  was  over. 

In  the  dim  parlor  Mrs.  Wyckoff  lay  peaceful 
and  white  in  her  coffin,  her  breast  covered  with 
late  roses  ;  among  them  was  Philomena's  little 
picture.  Only  Philomena  and  her  cousins  were 
there ;  she  rose  from  her  knees  to  draw  back 


42  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

a  curtain  that  she  might  see  that  dear,  wan  face 
in  the  light  once  more. 

"Cousin,"  cried  Margaret,  suddenly  throw- 
ing herself  at  Philomena's  feet,  "teach  me  the 
truth, — help  me  to  repair  my  awful  wrong. 
Oh,  if  I  could  only  bring  her  back!" 

Philomena's  tears  fell  fast  on  her  cousin's 
head.  She  could  make  no  answer  to  that  heart- 
broken cry,  so  often  repeated  too  late  all  the 
world  over. 

Margaret  rose  and  tottered  to  her  mother's 
side.  Her  eyes,  in  the  burst  of  light  that 
Philomena  had  let  in,  saw  the  words  on  the 
little  lace-edged  picture  of  Our  Lady.  She 
read  them  in  a  low  voice,  and  Philomena  ended 
the  prayer  she  had  begun  —  "Holy  Mary, 
Mother  of  God,  pray  for  us  now  and  at  the 
hour  of  our  death." 

And  her  cousin  answered  with  her,  "Amen," 
and  felt  a  nameless  consolation. 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  VIOLIN. 


I. "THE    LITTLE    OLD   MAID. 

THE  old  violin  was  silent.  The  E  string 
hung  loose,  and  the  bow  beside  it  on  the 
wall  showed  strands  of  waving  horse -hair. 
The  hands  of  its  master  had  brought  forth  the 
last  strains  he  should  ever  draw  out  of  his  be- 
loved instrument,  in  the  Gloria,  at  the  Grand 
Mass,  on  Easter  Sunday. 

May  had  come ;  Easter  Sunday  was  past 
three  weeks,  and  Mary  Hackett,  in  her  black 
gown,  sat  looking  at  the  old  violin  with  tears 
in  her  eyes.  On  the  evening  of  the  Resur- 
rection Day,  her  father  had  died,  and  the  kind 
priest  had  said  to  her  :  ' '  You  are  all  alone  my 
child,  but  the  Blessed  Mother  and  the  angels 
are  the  nearer  to  you  for  that." 

Every  morning  at  Mass  and  the  May  devo- 
tions —  each  previous  year  she  had  knelt  next 
43 


44  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

to  her  father — Mary  watched  the  dear  old 
priest,  and  found  comfort  in  his  words.  She 
was  all  alone, 

Her  father  had  made  her  life  a  very  simple 
one.  Since  her  mother's  death,  which  had  hap- 
pened on  the  voyage  from  Ireland  four  years 
ago,  Mary  had  known  no  companion  but  her 
father.  Dear,  dear  old  father.  The  thought 
of  the  swelling  veins  in  those  kind  hands  which 
had  toiled  so  long  for  her  made  her  choke  ;  the 
remembrance  of  the  dim  blue  eyes  looking 
through  their  glasses  at  the  scores  of  the  music 
she  so  carefully  copied,  caused  her  heart  to 
ache ;  she  threw  herself,  heart-broken,  before 
the  old  violin.  It  was  part  of  him ;  it  had 
been  his  one  friend. 

"Oh,  father,  father!  if  I  could  only  have 
repaid  you  a  little  —  just  a  little! — before 
you  died." 

She  had  done  her  best.  She  had  kept 
the  three  rooms  in  the  lodging-house,  in 
Brooklyn,  as  neat  as  wax.  She  had  studied  to 
make  her  dear  father  comfortable.  His  coffee 
in  the  morning  was  always  just  right ;  and 
when  he  came  home  from  the  rehearsal  at 
theatre,  weary  and  worn,  Mary's  little  dinner 
was  perfection.  It  was  generally  a  very  frugal 


THE    SECRET    OF   THE    OLD    VIOLIN.  45 

little  dinner ;  but  Mary  thought  a  great  deal 
about  it,  and  generally  contrived  to  introduce 
some  surprise  every  day. 

"  Sure,  Mary,  you're  a  cordon  bleu,"  the  old 
man  often  said,  growing  cheerful  as  the  appe- 
tizing aroma  met  him  at  the  door. 

Mary  never  knew  what  a  cordon  bleu  meant ; 
but  knowing  that  it  was  a  compliment  to  her 
cookery,  she  was  content. 

Yes,  she  had  done  her  best.  How  neat  was 
her  father's  worn  satin  tie,  how  carefully 
brushed  his  glossy  black  suit,  how  scrupulously 
bright  all  his  belongings  !  His  "  parts"  in  the 
orchestra  —  he  played  fourth  violin  —  were 
wonders  of  legibility.  Not  a  grace-note  or  the 
smallest  dot  could  be  taken  for  anything  else. 
She  had  them  all  now  in  her  scrap-book  —  hun- 
dreds of  them.  How  she  had  watched  over 
him  !  Yes,  she  had  done  her  best,  but  it  was  all 
too  little  ! 

Mary  was  fifteen  years  old,  more  serious  than 
girls  of  her  age  are.  Her  need  of  looking  after 
her  father,  who  wras  old  and  delicate,  had  made 
her  thoughtful  and  grave. 

She  was  not  a  pretty  girl.  She  was  rather 
short  in  stature,  with  dark-blue  eyes,  brown 
hair,  a  turned-up  nose,  and  a  sprinkling  of 


46  STOEIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

freckles  all  over  her  healthy  face.  She  hated 
the  freckles. 

"Never  mind,  Mary,"  her  father  had  said, 
with  a  bow  copied  from  the  gallants  of  the 
stage,  "freckles  are  grace-notes  in  the  sym- 
phony of  beauty." 

And  Mary  wrote  this  sentiment  in  her  note- 
book, and  thought  it  was  very  fine. 

The  happy,  peaceful  days  were  gone  !  Of 
what  use  were  the  lesson-books  now,  their  was 
no  one  to  hear  her  repeat  their  words  !  Alone  ! 
—  all  alone  !  There  were  people  passing  in  the 
street,  children  playing,  and  the  German  woman 
on  the  floor  above  was  calling  out,  "  Wil-hel- 
meena  !  You,  Wilhel-rneena  !  " 

Mary  felt  a  great  desire  to  talk  to  somebody, 
to  know  this  Wilhelmina.  She  had  never  felt 
so  when  her  father  was  alive.  The  neighbors 
had  dropped  in  after  her  father's  death ;  the 
women,  rough  and  ready,  tried  hard  to  be 
gentle,  and  the  men  expressed  kind  feeling 
too.  But,  as  there  had  been  no  "wake,"  the 
neighborhood  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
Mary  and  her  father  were  "  stuck  up,"  and  had 
troubled  her  no  more.  They  called  her  the 
"  little,  old  maid." 

She   was  grateful,   but  she   was  very   shy, 


THE  SECRET  OP  THE  OLD  VIOLIN.     47 

Now  she  took  up  the  old  copy  of  the  "Imita- 
tion," and  read : 

"  '  So  often  as  I  have  been  in  the  company 
of  men,'  said  a  philosopher,  '  I  have  become 
less  of  a  man : '  thus  it  is  with  those  who 
talk  much." 

"  It  is  best  to  be  quiet,"  she  thought.  And 
she  went  into  the  "  extension,"  filled  with 
geraniums,  tall  lilies,  and  hyacinths.  These 
her  father  had  tended  with  all  the  success  that 
comes  to  those  who  love  flowers.  The  "  exten- 
sion "  was  a  veranda,  covered  and  faced  with 
glass.  In  the  old  days  when  the  house  was  the 
residence  of  one  family,  instead  of  half  a  dozen, 
it  had  been  a  conservatory  on  a  small  scale. 
Mary's  father,  an  industrious  collector  of  bulbs 
and  plants,  had  restored  it  to  its  original  use. 
He  indulged  in  no  luxury,  except  these  flowers. 

One  by  one  he  had  added  to  his  collection. 
The  thermometer  and  the  oil-stove  it  contained 
had  been  purchased  at  sacrifices.  He  had 
walked  from  the  theatre  several  months,  to 
save  enough  to  buy  them. 

Mary  looked  at  the  thermometer  and  then  at 
the  flowers. 

"  Fifty-five  degrees  for  the  roses.  It  has 
been  a  cold  night.  This  bon  slUne  rose  that 


48  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

ought  to  have  bloomed  for  Easter,  is  just  out. 
What  a  bank  of  white  hyacinths?  Oh,  I  wish 
father  could  see  them  !  " 

The  Japanese  rose  was  full  of  buds.  There 
was  no  bud  on  the  Chinese  primroses.  "  It 
will  soon  be  time  to  set  the  roses  out  of  doors," 
she  thought. 

But  there  was  no  "  out  of  doors."  The  yard 
was  filled  with  boxes,  barrels,  old  bottles,  and 
a  venerable  deposit  of  clam-shells,  planted  to 
give  beauty  to  the  place.  Mary  sighed. 

"Well,  I  can  soon  open  the  windows,  and 
let  in  the  air  and  the  sunshine.  How  pretty 
our  rooms  are  !  I  wish  father  —  " 

The  shoemaker  in  the  front  room,  whose 
constant  tapping  had  annoyed  him,  was  gone 
at  last.  Everything  was  quiet  as  he  liked  it ; 
but  he,  too,  was  gone  !  Before  he  died,  he  had 
said  to  her : 

"I  have  little  to  leavo  you,  dear;  but, 
knowing  how  feeble  the  poor  father  was,  you 
won't  blame  him  for  that,  dear.  There's  my 
violin,  and  there's  something  in  that  which 
you  may  value,  dear,  because  my  father  gave 
it  to  me.  I  slipped  it  in  yesterday.  It  will 
make  you  happy  —  "  Here  he  gasped,  and  he 
could  only  add :  ' '  The  rent's  paid  for  six 


THE    SECRET    OF    THE    OLD    VIOLIN.  49 

months.  Sure  it  was  the  only  investment  I 
could  make  for  you,  darling.  You  won't  be 
turned  out  before  you  can  look  around,  as  we 
were  in  the  old  country.  God  bless  you  !  " 

Mary  had  been  thankful  many  times  since 
for  her  father's  forethought.  She  shared  with 
him  the  horror  of  being  "turned  out."  She 
had,  after  all  the  expenses  of  the  funeral  were 
paid,  fifty  dollars  and  a  home.  How  she  treas- 
ured that  receipt  for  the  rent !  Whither  could 
she  have  gone  ?  What  would  have  become  of 
the  big  shelf  of  books,  the  little  one  filled  with 
MSS.  of  music,  the  flowers?  It  would  have 
been  like  another  death  to  have  sold  and  scat- 
tered them ;  yet  in  a  large  city  space  is  so  val- 
uable that  the  poor  child,  with  her  limited 
means,  could  have  found  no  room  for  her 
treasures. 

But  now  —  what  to  do? 

The  doctor  had  brought  her  a  newspaper, 
with  a  long  column  of  "wants;"  and  an  un- 
known woman  had  called,  bringing  with  her  a 
tract,  "Advice  to  the  Criminal,"  and  asked 
her  to  call  at  the  "  Evangelical  Society  for  Ob- 
taining Employment  for  Females." 

"You  are  a  Romanist,"  I  see,  said  the  vis- 
itor, noticing  the  crucifix  and  the  picture  of  the 
Sacred  Heart. 


50  STORIES  AND   SKETCHES. 

Mary  was  puzzled.     "  A  Catholic  —  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mary,  "  of  course." 

"  Do  you  know,  child,  that  you  are  in  the 
bonds  of  iniquity." 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Mary,  timidly. 

"Well,  you  are,"  answered  the  visitor,  de- 
cidedly. "Read  these  tracts."  And  the 
woman  gave  her  several  leaflets,  "Why  Rom- 
anists Hate  the  Bible  ;  "  "The  Degradation  of 
the  Irish  due  to  Romanism,"  and  "  Plow  Rom- 
ish Worshippers  Pay  to  have  their  Sins  For- 
given." 

Mary's  cheeks  flushed  under  the  freckles. 

"These  are  not  true,  ma'am.  My  father 
was  a  Catholic." 

"  Poor  man  !  poor  man  !  "  said  the  visitor, 
feelingly.  "  He  sees  the  light  now." 

"  He  sees  the  light  in  Heaven,"  cried  Mary, 
tearing  the  tracts  and  stamping  her  foot. 
"Don't  you  come  here  again!" 

"Poor  Popish,  unguided  girl!"  All  the 
bugles,  jet,  and  beads  on  the  zealous  woman's 
wraps  jingled  as  she  raised  her  hands  in  horror. 
' '  I  must  say  you  keep  your  rooms  very  neat  — 
much  neater  than  most  of  the  Romanists  in  this 
house.  Ah,  what  a  lovely  calla-lily  !" 

"  That  said  Mary,  her  face  still  flushed,  "is 
for  the  altar  of  Our  Blessed  Lady." 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  VIOLIN.     51 

"Idolatry!  Idolatry!  Let  not  your  angry 
passions  rise,  my  child ;  but  we  can't  expect 
much  from  the  Papists ;  they  do  not  control 
themselves." 

Mary  felt  sorry  for  her  anger.  The  woman 
would  think  that  Catholics  were  really  not 
taught  to  forgive  injuries.  She  cut  a  bunch  of 
red  carnations,  and  gave  them  to  her  visitor. 

"Forgive  me,  madam ;  I  was  hasty.  Had  I 
remembered  the  example  of  Our  Blessed  Lady, 
I  should  not  have  stamped  my  foot." 

"  Well,  I  never!"  said  the  visitor,  leaving. 
' '  But  come  to  the  Evangelical  Home  on  Wed- 
nesday, unfortunate  girl,  and  the  Rev.  Melanc- 
thon  Bangs  will  pray  with  you  and  get  you 
some  work  to  do." 

Mary  did  not  go.  But  it  was  the  only  op- 
portunity of  gaining  employment  that  offered 
itself.  She  could  play  the  violin,  she  could 
sew,  she  could  cook.  But  how  could  she  start 
to  earn  her  living  by  these  acquirements  ?  ' 

Several  of  her  father's  companions  in  the 
orchestra  came  once  to  see  her.  She  played 
the  "Fox  Hunter's  Jig."  They  stopped  their 
ears,  and  said  : 

"  Ach  Himmel,  that  is  no  moosic." 

She  was  discouraged.  But  she  played  every 
dav  an  exercise  and  one  of  Moore's  melodies  in 


52  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

memory  of  her  father.  She  played  very  badly, 
and  she  knew  it ;  so  she  had  nothing  to  depend 
on,  except  her  cooking  and  sewing. 

The  world  seemed  very  bleak,  cold,  and 
wide.  She  shivered,  and  looked  into  the  old 
violin  again  and  again ;  she  could  not  see  that 
her  father  had  left  anything  for  her  within  it. 

Where  should  she  ask  for  work  ?  She  knew 
nothing  of  the  two  great  cities.  She  had  walked 
to  Mass  through  the  same  streets  day  after  day, 
and  sometimes  gone  with  her  father  to  Prospect 
Park.  She  had  only  once  or  twice  crossed  the 
Ferry  to  the  glittering,  noisy,  wonderful  great 
city  beyond  the  river. 

She  knelt  for  a  few  minutes,  not  before  the 
violin  this  time,  but  in  prayer  before  her  little 
statue,  embowered  in  hyacinths,  of  the  Blessed 
Mother  —  the  comforter  of  the  afflicted — the 
solace  of  the  lonely. 


There  was  a  crash  upstairs,  louder  than 
usual.  Mary  started  up  and  listened.  Sounds 
of  crying  —  a  child's  voice  —  and  loud  lamenta- 
tions by  a  woman.  Then  a  knock  at  Mary's 
door.  She  opened  it. 

"Come,  come,"  said  a  little  girl,  "the  baby 
is  killed  ! " 


THE    SECRET    OF   THE    OLD    VIOLIN.  53 


II. HOW   A    QUESTION    WAS     ANSWERED     BY    A 

QUESTION. 

It  was  Wilhelmina  Schmid  who  spoke.  Her 
flaxen  hair,  arranged  in  short  pig-tails,  seemed 
to  stand  upright  from  fright.  She  stood  in  the 
door-way,  big  tears  making  tracks  over  a  face 
that  showed  marks  of  recent  occupation  in  the 
making  of  mud  pies.  The  Schmids,  six  and 
the  baby,  were  always  in  the  street,  and  always 
in  the  mud.  Often  had  Mary  longed  to  wash 
them. 

"  Come,"  said  the  child. 

Now  Mary  did  not  like  the  Schmids.  The 
mother  had  a  loud  voice,  and  sometimes  the 
noise  of  the  children  made  the  house  unpleas- 
ant. They  cooked  strange  compounds  of  cab- 
bage, the  odors  of  which,  mingling  with  the 
garlic  of  the  Italians  in  the  fourth  story,  often 
caused  her  to  wish  they  lived  somewhere  else. 
Their  mother  was  often  out.  She  was  a  washer- 
woman, a  widow. 

"  I  have  enough  to  attend  to  myself,"  thought 
Mary,  "  without  taking  other  people's  troubles 
on  my  shoulders.  What  am  I  to  do?  I  am 
more  miserable  than  anybody.  There's  always 


54  STOUIKS    AM)    SKETCHES. 

something  the  matter  with  that  nasty  Schmid 
baby." 

But  the  little  Wilhelmina  uttered  another 
howl,  and  pulled  at  her  gown. 

"I  suppose  I  must  go,  though  I  shall  not 
have  time  to  —  " 

Another  cry  from  above  ;  Wilhelmina  danced 
with  fright,  and  pulled  Mary's  gown  again. 

Mary  followed  the  little  girl  up  the  dark 
stairway  and  into  the  close,  ill-smelling  rooms 
of  the  Schmids. 

It  was  Sunday  morning.  August  Schmid, 
a  boy  of  fifteen,  was  replacing  the  table  which 
had  been  overturned ;  Katrina,  his  sister,  next 
in  years,  was  picking  up  the  coffee-pot  and 
some  slices  of  bread  that  were  scattered  on  the 
floor. 

Florestan,  Alphonsus,  and  Adelaide — all 
Schmids — were  gathered  around  Filomcna, 
the  baby,  who,  in  her  mother's  arms,  was  cry- 
ing in  a  way  that  showed  her  lungs  were  un- 
injured. 

"Ah,fraulein"  cried  Mrs.  Schmid,  whose  fat 
face  was  pale  from  fright,  "I  am  so  glad.  Tell 
me  that  the  baby  —  my  little  Filomena  —  is  not 
dying.  Ach,  see  the  blood  !" 

The  child  was  bleeding.     There  was  a  cut 


THE    SECRET   OF   THE    OLD   VIOLIN.  55 

on  the  head.  The  poor  mother  was  almost  too 
weak  to  stand.  She  sank  into  a  chair,  and 
Mary  caught  the  baby. 

Mary,  used  to  a  quiet  life,  hated  trouble  ; 
but  the  sight  of  the  mother's  grief  and  the  little 
baby  made  her  forget  herself  and  her  sorrow. 

In  a  minute  she  had  discovered  that  the  cut 
on  the  baby's  forehead  was  really  slight. 

Forgetting  the  risks  that  might  attend  the 
entrance  of  these  wild  Schmids  into  her  rooms, 
she  cried  out : 

"  Go,  one  of  you,  and  get  the  court-plaster 
which  is  in  my  work-basket  I" 

Florestan,  Katrina,  Alphonsus,  Adelaide, 
and  Wilheluiina  darted  down  stairs  at  once, 
all  eager  to  enter  the  mysterious  region  belong- 
ing to  the  "  little  old  maid,"  a  region  in  which 
they  had  never  been  permitted  to  penetrate. 

But  they  returned  in  a  few  minutes,  with  a 
noise  like  that  of  a  troop  of  shodden  young 
colts. 

"  Das  court-plaster,"  they  demanded,  "  was 
1st  das  ?  " 

Luckily  Mary  had  found  the  packet  of  plas- 
ter in  her  apron  pocket. 

In  her  absorption,  she  did  not  notice  that 
Wilhelmina  carried  the  flower  of  the  superb 


56  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

calla,  which  she  poked  at  the  baby's  nose,  say- 
ing, in  German : 

"  It  will  make  thee  well,  thou  angel." 

Mrs.  Schmid  watched  Mary,  her  fat,  red 
hands  clasped  over  her  heart,  as  Mary  skilfully 
plastered  the  baby's  wound,  and  washed  its 
face.  It  was  a  pretty  baby,  after  all,  when  its 
face  was  clean  and  its  hair  combed.  It  had  big, 
blue  eyes,  which,  with  tears  in  them,  reminded 
Mary  of  heliotropes  after  a  June  shower. 

Filomena,  after  a  time,  put  her  chubby  arms 
around  Mary's  neck  and  went  to  sleep. 

"  Ach,  sie  sind  so  lieblich  !  "  murmured  Mrs. 
Schmid.  "Never  will  I  call  you  'little  old 
maid  '  again  !  " 

This  brought'  Mary  back  to  herself.  To  tell 
the  truth,  her  chief  reason  for  disliking  the 
Schmids  was  that  the  children  had  acquired 
a  habit  of  singing  out,  whenever  they  could 
without  falling  into  her  hands,  "  little  old 
maid  !  "  She  had  never  confessed  this  to  her- 
self. She  was  ashamed  of  it. 

"I  must  go  and  get  ready  for  Mass,"  she 
said.  "  It  is  nearly  eight  o'clock." 

"I  wish  I  could  go,"  Mrs.  Schmid  said; 
"  but  I  never  do,  except  at  Christmas.  I  can- 
not get  the  children  ready  and  go,  too." 


THE    SECRET    OF    THE    OLD    VIOLIN.  57 

Mary  looked  at  her,  shocked  and  horrified. 
A  Catholic  who  never  went  to  Mass. 

"  Can't  the  children  mind  one  another  while 
you  are  out  ?  " 

"  Mind  one  another  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Schmid, — 
"  Wilhelmina,  I  will  whip  thee  well  when  the 
fraulein  goes ;  steal  not  thy  sister's  bread. 
Florestan,  thou  shalt  have  no  dinner,  if  thou 
dost  not  cease  to  stand  on  thy  head.  Wil-hel- 
meena,  thou  wilt  waken  the  baby  !  "  cried  the 
poor  woman.  "You  see,"  she  continued, 
speaking  in  English,  "how  they  mind  one 
another.  I  went  out  to  the  grocer's  for  a 
minute,  and  behold  Wilhelmina  pulled  over  the 
table  upon  my  all-beloved  Filomena  !  " 

"  It  was  thou,  August !  "  cried  Wilhelmina, 
shrilly. 

August,  a  big,  flaxen-haired  boy,  with  a  sulky 
expression,  said  nothing ;  he,  however,  shook 
his  fist  at  his  sister. 

"Does  August  go  to  Mass?"  Mary  asked. 

"  Not  of  late,"  said  his  mother  hesitatingly. 
"He  has  no  work,  and  his  clothes  are  torn. 
Let  me  mend  thy  sleeve  for  thee,  August." 

August  reddened,  and  tried  hard  to  bury 
his  sleeves  in  his  sides. 

"  I  will  not,"  he  said,  sulkily.     "You  only 


58  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

made  them  worse,  mother.  I  will  not  go  to 
church  and  be  laughed  at  by  the  other  boys. 
The  last  patch  you  put  on  — " 

August  reddened  still  more  at  the  remem- 
brance of  the  mortification  of  that  patch. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Mrs.  Schmid,  turning  to 
Mary.  "I  cannot  sew.  My  fingers  are  too 
clumsy  and  stiff,  and  August  likes  not  to  the 
boys  to  call  him  '  Dutchie.'  It  is  hard  to  be 
good  when  one  is  poor." 

Mary  felt  that  she  ought  to  deny  this,  but 
she  did  not  know  how.  August's  elbows,  in 
spite  of  his  efforts  to  hide  them,  showed  for 
themselves.  His  coat  was  very  ragged  about 
the  sleeves. 

Having  received  the  thanks  of  Mrs.  Schmid, 
Mary  went  down  stairs.  The  people  in  the 
house  were  early  risers.  It  still  wanted  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  of  eight  o'clock. 

As  she  put  on  her  modest  hat,  she  reflected 
on  the  troubles  of  the  Schmids.  She  did  not 
want  to.  She  wanted  to  think  of  her  own  great 
trouble  ;  she  wanted  to  get  back  from  Mass,  and 
then  to  shut  herself  up,  and  brood  over  her  sor- 
row. But  the  spectacle  of  August,  so  ragged 
that  he  could  not  go  to  Mass,  haunted  her. 

Suddenly  she  took  off  her  gloves  and  her 
wrap. 


THE    SECUET    OF   THE    OLD    VIOLIX.  59 

"  I  can  go  to  the  nine,  ten,  or  eleven  o'clock 
Mass,"  she  said.  "  I  will  not  be  selfish.  I 
prayed  for  work  this  morning.  Here  is  some 
at  my  hand.  It  is  hard  for  the  poor  to  go  to 
Mass  when  they  have  so  much  to  do.  I  have 
nothing  to  do.  I  ought  to  help  them." 

From  a  drawer,  wherein  many  things  were 
neatly  laid,  she  took  some  pieces  of  black 
cloth.  Then  providing  herself  with  her  needle, 
thread,  and  thimble,  she  knocked  at  the 
Schmids'  door. 

August  looked  as  sulky  as  usual.  The  wo- 
man who  had  called  on  Mary  with  the  tracts 
was  seated  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  with  the 
Schmids  grouped  around  her. 

"  Oh,  come,"  she  was  saying  ;  "come  to  the 
little  Bethel ;  then  you  will  listen  to  the  holy 
words  of  the  Scriptures,  which  your  poor 
Popish  ears  have  never  heard  !  " 

Mary  said,  "  Good-morning,  ma'am."  And 
then  to  Mrs.  Schmid,  "I  am  in  a  great  hurry. 
May  I  mend  August's  sleeves,  Mrs.  Schmid?" 

August's  face  became  radiant.  He  whipped 
off  his  coat,  and  passed  it  to  Mary.  Out  of 
regard  for  the  ladies,  he  then  wrapped  the 
worn,  old  table-cloth  around  him  and  retired  to 
the  remotest  corner. 


60  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"  Would  you  desecrate  the  Sabbath,  girl?" 
demanded  the  woman  of  the  tracts,  as  Mary 
deftly  cut  the  cloth  she  had  brought.  "Stop 
at  once  ;  you  are  committing  sin.  Is  this  what 
your  priests  teach  you  ?  " 

Mary  paused,  surprised.  Her  cheeks  flushed 
slightly. 

"It  is  a  good  work  —  a  work  of  necessity. 
August  has  need  of  his  jacket  to-day.  Our 
priests  teach  us,  ma'am  that  Sunday  is  the  Day 
of  the  Resurrection,  not  the  Jewish  Sabbath. 
Please,  Mrs.  Schmid,  may  I  take  the  coat  down 
stairs  ?  I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

Before  the  woman  of  the  tracts  could  con- 
tinue her  denunciations,  Mary  was  gone. 

August  went  to  Mass  at  nine  o'clock.  He 
forgot  to  look  sulky  ;  he  grinned  with  pleasure. 
Had  he  not  a  new  black  necktie  and  a  pair  of 
cuffs  which  Mary  had  found  for  him?  and  was 
not  his  coat  neatly  mended?  August  felt  that 
he  must  behave  himself  well.  And  at  the  cate- 
chism class  in  the  afternoon  he  received  a 
picture  of  St.  Filomena,  as  a  reward  of  merit. 

Mary,  her  appetite  for  self-saeritice  increas- 
ing with  practice,  volunteered  to  take  care  of 
the  baby  and  Wilhelmina,  while  their  mother 
ran  over  to  the  church  with  the  rest  of  the 
brood. 


THE  SECRET    OF   THE    OLD  VIOLIN.  61 

Her  first  impulse,  when  she  was  alone  with 
the  children,  was  to  wash  them.  But.  as  there 
was  but  little  time  and  she  intended  to  go  to 
eleven  o'clock  Mass  herself,  she  denied  herself 
that  pleasure,  and  told  them  stories. 

The  German  children  asked  for  one  of 
Grimm's  Marchen,  which  their  mother  had 
often  told  them,  but  Mary,  considering  that 
the  lives  of  the  saints  were  more  appropriate, 
entranced  them  with  the  story  of  St.  Gudula. 
She  was  just  telling  how  the  evil  spirits  tried 
to  blow  out  the  saint's  lantern  every  time  she 
went  to  Mass  early  in  the  morning,  and  how 
they  tried  to  make  her  afraid  in  the  darkness, 
when  Mrs.  Schmid  came  back,  releasing  her. 

How  quiet  and  peaceful  Mary's  room  seemed 
when  she  returned  from  Mass  ! 

The  scent  of  the  white  and  purple  hyacinth 
came  through  the  shut  glass  doors  into  the 
sitting-room,  hinting  of  the  richness  and  sweet- 
ness of  the  coming  summer.  The  ivy  against 
the  walls  of  the  "  extension"  quivered  in  time 
to  the  trilling  of  the  canary,  which  seemed  to 
l)c  singing  the  last  words  "  the  little  old 
maid  "  had  listened  to  — 

"  Dona  nobis  pacem — pacemt" 

All  was  very  peaceful.     Her  work   of  the 


62  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

morning  had  lifted  the  burden  of  her  grief;  and 
for  a  time  she  ceased  to  ask  herself,  ' '  What 
can  I  do?" 

A  knock  at  the  door.  Mary  dropped  her 
book.  It  was  Wilhelmina,  the  little  pig-tails 
tied  with  red  ribbon,  and  with  marks  of  much 
rubbing  on  her  shining  face. 

Mrs.  Schmid  asked  ilia  fraulem  to  dinner. 

The  little  old  maid  shuddered.  Dinner  with 
Filomena,  Florestan,  Adelaida,  Alphonsus,  and 
the  terrible  Wilhelmina !  But  Mrs.  Schmid 
meant  to  be  kind,  and  Mary,  with  a  regretful 
look  at  her  room,  went  up  to  accept  her  kind- 
ness. 

The  Schmid  kitchen  was  very  hot  and  greasy. 
Mrs.  Schmid  was  ladling  out  soup  from  a 
steaming  kettle  into  the  plates  of  the  children, 
who  were  grouped  around  the  deal  table. 

Wilhelmina  showed  a  tendency  to  dip  her 
fingers  into  Adelaida's  plate,  and  Florestan 
and  August  had  one  or  two  slight  misunder- 
standings. Mary  saw  that  Mrs.  Schmid's 
knowledge  of  cooking  led  to  some  waste.  She 
asked  permission  to  make  dessert,  which  she 
did,  to  the  amazement  of  everybody,  from 
some  apples,  sugar,  and  milk. 

The  spray  of  white  hyacinths  with  which  she 


THE    SECRET    OF   THE    OLD   VIOLIN.  63 

had   deftly  adorned   the   table   was   generally 
admired. 

"  Ah,"  said  August,  "  if  I  had  that,  I  could 
sell  it  for  twenty-five  cents." 

"  Mother,"  cried  Alphonsus,  "  I  wish  Flor- 
estan  and  I  could  sell  flowers  at  the  Ferry,  in- 
stead of  the  Telegrams  and  News,  Why  don't 
you  sell  your  flowers,  little  old  maid?" 

"  Alphonsus  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Schmid.  "  The 
boy  is  crazy  ! " 

"  You  cull  her  'little  old  maid,'"  said  the 
flaxen-haired  Alphonsus,  apologetically. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said,  smiling.  She  was 
thinking  of  the  boy's  question . 

The  Schmid  family  did  not  long  remain  em- 
barassed.  The  mother  had  told  her  brood 
that  Mary  was  a  poor  orphan,  and  the  children 
had  showed  their  sympathy  by  fishing  out  the 
moist  pieces  of  dough  from  their  soup  and  lay- 
ing them  on  her  plate.  She  was  glad  when 
dinner  was  over. 

In  spite  of  herself,  she  became  interested  in 
the  thoughtless  Alphonsus,  whose  flaxen  hair 
curled  in  every  direction,  in  the  mischievous 
Wilhelmina,  and  even  in  the  sulky  August. 

But  August  was  her  obedient  servant ;  he 
said  "hush"  very  loud  whenever  his  brothers 
or  sisters  interrupted  her,  or  she  told  of  the 


64  STORIES    AND   SKETCHES. 

little  house  in  the  old  country,  and  of  her  father 
and  mother. 

"  I  must  be  up  at  four  o'clock,"  said  the 
washerwoman.  "  I  must  do  much  before  I  go 
out  to  wash.  It  is  hard  to  be  poor."  She 
looked  very  contented,  though.  "I  wish  Au- 
ust  had  something  to  do ;  the  others  bring  so 
little  in." 

Mary  had  been  thinking,  not  of  herself,  but 
of  these  others.  Alphonsus'  remark  about 
the  hyacinth  had  started  her  thoughts. 

"  Mrs.  Schmid,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "  I 
will  get  breakfast  for  these  children  to-morrow 
and  help  them  off  to  school,  if  you  will  let  Au- 
gust sell  some  of  my  flowers." 

"  Ach,  wunderschon  I "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Schmid,  kissing  Mary  on  both  cheeks;  "you 
are  an  angel !  " 

"How  good  is  the  little  old  maid!"  chor- 

O 

used  the  children. 

And  then  August  said,  "  hush  !  " 

"Only,"    continued  Mary,    "till    he     gets 

something  else  to  do." 

"It   is    well,  it   Is   well,"  said  the  mother; 

"even  a  few  pennies  would  help  us." 

Mary  fed  the  children  on  oatmeal  and  milk, 


THE    SECRET    OF    THE    OLD    VIOLIN.  65 

and  begged  Mrs.  Schmid  to  keep  the  greasy 
sausages  she  had  bought  until  later.  The  chil- 
dren were  comparatively  docile  in  her  hands, 
especially  the  girls,  who  were  very  willing  to 
go  to  the  Sisters'  school  with  their  hair  combed 
in  a  new  way.  It  was  hard  work  for  Mary  — 
this  attending  to  them  amid  continual  confusion 
and  babble  of  tongues,  but  she  went  through  it 
bravely. 

The  walls  of  the  "  extension  "  were  almost 
covered  by  shelves  ;  on  each  shelf  were  a  box 
of  mignonette,  heliotropes,  pansies,  and  num- 
bers of  hyacinth  glasses.  A  little  box  of  sham- 
rock and  one  of  white  clover,  now  in  bloom, 
had  been  her  father's  pride.  It  was  wonder- 
ful how  he  had  managed  to  pack  so  many 
plants  into  such  a  small  place,  and  still  have 
them  live  and  flourish ;  but  he  had  done  it. 

Mary  made  an  inventory  of  her  stock.  She 
could  count  on  ten  of  the  bon  silene  roses, 
plenty  of  hyacinths,  a  few  carnations,  many 
rose-geranium  leaves,  mignonette,  and  five  or 
six  pansies. 

August  was  sent  out  to  discover  what  flower 
was  the  most  in  demand,  Mary  minding  the 
baby  for  him  while  he  was  away. 

"  The  clover  blossom  and  the  hideous  Japan- 


66  STORIES   AND   SKETCHES. 

ese  rose  are  of  no  use,"  she  thought.  "  Well, 
I  can  make  thirty  little  nosegays,  at  least." 

The  Japanese  rose  was  a  straggling  bush, 
picked  up  on  the  docks  by  her  father.  It  was 
laden  with  small,  deep-red,  single  flowers. 

When  August  returned,  he  reported  "  Car- 
nations and  clover-blossoms ;  but  the  man  says 
that  flowers  are  scarce,  and  the  evening  is  the 
best  time  to  sell  them." 

"Very  well,  August.  I  will  have  the 
bunches  ready  about  five  o'clock,  when  the 
girls  come  home  to  take  care  of  the  baby." 

August  grinned.  He  was  eager  to  earn 
something  —  eager,  with  all  his  sulkiness,  to 
help  his  mother. 

Wilhelmina  did  not  go  to  school,  and  Mary 
took  her  down  stairs  to  keep  her  out  of  mis- 
chief. A  picture-book  kept  her  quiet,  for 
Wilhelmina's  restlessness  was  due  to  lack  of 
pleasant  occupation. 

Mary's  carnations  soon  gave  out.  The 
Japanese  roses  were  so  red  that  they  rivalled 
the  carnations  ;  and  she  concluded  to  risk  it 
and  mingle  them  with  the  clover-blossoms. 
The  effect  was  good.  "  They  wont  bring 
much,"  she  thought,  "  but  they  will  help." 

Suddenly,  after   her  nosegays   were   made, 


THE    SECRET   OF   THE    OLD   VIOLIN.  67 

she  realized  that  she  had  no  tin-foil ;  and  stems 
of  button-hole  nosegays  are  always  wrapped 
in  tin-foil. 

She  flew  up  to  August,  forgetting  her  usual 
primness  and  dignity,  and  also  the  important 
fact  that  Wilhelmma  was  alone  with  breakable 
articles. 

August  grinned,  and  his  eyes  sparkled.  He 
dived  under  the  table,  and  arose  with  a  cigar- 
box.  It  was  tilled  with  pieces  of  tin-foil,  care- 
fully ironed  smooth. 

"  I  saved  them  from  smok ing-tobacco  pack- 
ages. I  begged  them  whenever  I  saw  a  man 
with  a  package." 

Mary  thanked  him. 

August  never  threw  anything  away.  He 
had  marvellous  collections  of  buttons,  old 
nails,  and  even  cancelled  postage  stamps. 

At  five  o'clock  the  nosegays  were  ready,  and 
neatly  arranged  in  the  lid  of  Mrs.  Schmid's 
market-basket.  Thirty  red,  white,  and  green 
bunches,  in  glittering  silver  holders !  and 
Mary  had  not  touched  any  flowers,  except  the 
clover  blossoms,  carnations,  and  Japanese 
roses. 

"I  have  had  a  happy  day,"  she  thought, 
as  she  knelt  in  her  room  to  say  the  Angelus ; 


68  STOKIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"  the  happiest  day  since  father  died.     May  his 
soul  rest  in  peace  ! " 

She  took  up  her  sewing —  a  frock  for  Filo- 
mena — and  smiled  now  and  then  at  some  re- 
membered prank  of  the  terrible  Wilhelmina. 

About  eight  o'clock  there  was  heard  steps  on 
the  stair. 

"Little  old  maid,"  said  a  breathless  voice, 
"  may  I  come  in?" 

Mary  opened  the  door.  August  and  his 
mother  entered. 

"Ach,  wunderschon  ! "  said  Mrs.  Schmid, 
wrapping  her  bare,  red  arms  in  her  apron. 

August,  running  all  over  with  grins,  marched 
proudly  up  to  the  table,  and  drew  from  his 
pockets  some  handful s  of  small  coin.  He  put 
them  carefully  on  the  table. 

"What  is  this?"     asked    Mary,  astonished. 

"It  is  yours,"  cried  August,  with  shining 
eyes.  "I  went  to  the  florist  in  Fulton  Street, 
and  showed  him  the  flowers.  'Ah'  he  said,  'I 
didn't  know  there  were  so  many  of  the  fashion- 
able roses  in  bloom.  What  do  you  want  for  all 
those  bunches  of  the  Huf/osa  rubra?  Ten 
cents?  You  can't  get  more  than  that  for  'em.' 
1  saw  he  was  anxious,  so  I  said  fifteen  '  Thir- 
teen,' he  said.  I  knew  then  that  I  would  get 


THE    SECRET    OF   THE    OLD   VIOLIN.  69 

twenty-five  from  the  ladies  and  gentleman  on 
the  sidewalk.     AND  I  GOT  IT  ! " 

Nobody  could  describe  the  pride  in  August's 
voice. 

"  I  am  so  glad  ! "  cried  Mary,  her  eyes  bright- 
ening. "And  the  ugly  Japanese  rose,  too  !  I 
am  so  glad  ! " 

"  I  bring,"  said  August,  "seven  dollars  and 
a  haJf,  except  one  five  cent  piece  with  a  hole  in  it. 
But  it  was  dark,"  he  added. 

"It  is  all  yours.  Take  it,  August.  I  am 
so  glad  !"  cried  Mary,  thinking  of  the  pleasure 
it  must  give  him. 

Mrs.  Schmid  was  aghast.  She  felt  that  the 
"  little  old  maid"  must  have  gone  crazy. 

"No,"  she  said,  sharply.  "My  August 
will  take  only  what  he  has  earned.  You 
may  pay  him  what  you  will." 

Mary  fingered  the  money  for  an  instant,  and, 
seeing  the  justice  of  this,  divided  it  into  two 
parts. 

"This  is  yours,  August.  Your  mother  wTill 
take  it." 

Mrs.  Schmid  was  profuse  in  her  thanks. 
August  cried  out,  "To-morrow  we  will  make 
more  again,  '  little  old  maid  !"' 

Mary  laughed.     She  began  to  think  it  was 


70  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

funny  to  be  called  "little,  old  maid"  by  these 
grave  children. 

She  was  very  thankful.  Here  was  enough  to 
keep  her  in  food  for  many  days.  Unconscious- 
ly, while  thinking  least  of  herself,  of  her  con- 
venience, of  her  future,  she  had  found  the  work 
which  would  help  her  to  live.  Her  whole 
thought  had  been  for  the  family  up-stairs.  She 
had  hoped  to  help  them  to  bread  ;  and  the  bread 
which  she  would  soon  lack  had  been  brought 
to  her  own  mouth. 

The  flower-seller  made  the  most  of  that  lag- 
ging May.  Summer  weather  did  not  come  that 
season  until  July, .and  the  roses  were  all  put 
back. 

By  July,  Mary,  who  was  very  frugal,  had 
added  to  her  fifty  dollars  over  a  hundred  and 
fifty  ;  and  Mrs.  Schmid  had  also  saved  some- 
thing. 

In  September,  August  heard  of  an  old  green- 
house over  in  Jersey.  It  was  small,  as  was 
the  plot  of  land  around  it.  The  owner  was 
tired  of  it.  He  wanted  to  move  nearer  to  the 
cemeteries,  where  the  sale  of  plants  is  great. 
The  rent  was  low  and,  after  many  consulta- 
tions, in  which  even  Wilhelmina  took  part, 
Mary  rented  the  place.  She  reserved  a  room 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  VIOLIN.     71 

in  the  old  farm-house  for  herself.  The  Schmids, 
much  improved  in  every  way  by  Mary,  occupied 
the  rest ;  so  they  all  went  into  business  to- 
gether, to  supply  the  florists,  not  the  public. 
They  were  wholesale  dealers  now. 

One  day,  in  the  next  spring,  Mary  having 
sent  a  bower  of  the  lucky  Japanese  rose — 
which,  as  August  reminded  her  somewhat  re- 
gretfully, was  selling  at  ten  cents  a  bud — over 
to  the  church  for  the  Repository,  took  up  the 
old  violin. 

"I  wonder  what  secret  it  holds,"  she  said, 
kissing  it  tendtrly.  "I  wonder  what  my  father 
meant — God  rest  his  soul." 


Mary  never  found  what  the  old  violin  con- 
tained ;  but  she  already  knew  the  secret,  though 
she  had  not  found  it  in  the  violin. 

If  she  had,  she  would  have  read,  pasted 
around  the  sounding  stick,  a  paper  containing 
these  words,  from  the  "Imitation  of  Christ:" 

' '  Keep  thy  heart  free  and  raised  upward  to 
God;  because  thou  hast  not  here  a  lasting  abode." 


FLOATING  ON  A  BOARD. 


yVTEKROT  lived  in  Nantes,  a  town  in  Brit- 
tanny  ;  you  will  find  in  your  maps.  Pier- 
rot's father  died  and  left  him  to  the  care  of  his 
step-mother.  Now  Pierrot's  step-mother  was 
not  a  very  agreeable  woman,  for  she  had  a  high 
temper,  and  was  much  given  to  scolding,  with 
or  without  provocation  ;  but  I  admit  that  Pier- 
rot was  not  so  easily  managed. 

"He  is  a  wicked,  wicked  boy!"  exclaimed 
Madame  Choux  to  one  of  her  neighbors,  as 
Pierrot  was  seen  wildly  rushing  down  the 
street  with  one  of  her  tin  cooking  utensils  on 
his  head,  by  way  of  a  helmet.  He  was  enact- 
ing a  Prussian,  pursued  by  the  French  soldiers 
—  represented  by  a  squad  of  other  boys  of 
various  sizes. 

"He'll  break  my  heart  some  day,  the  good- 
for-nothing  !  He  has  already  made  a  great  dent 


FLOATING    ON   A    BOARD.  73 

in  my  stew-pan.  Pi-er-rot !  come  here  instantly," 
continued  his  step-mother. 

Pierrot  evaded  his  pursuer,  and  came  to  his 
step-mother  flushed  and  heated.  He  gracefully 
elevated  his  tin  head  covering,  as  he  ap- 
proached her,  and  made  a  low  bow.  This  was 
adding  insult  to  injury,  Madame  thought.  She 
grew  red  in  the  face,  and  gave  Pierrot  a  box  in 
the  ear  that  sent  him  flying  several  yards  away. 

"  What's  that  for  ?  "  asked  Pierrot.  He  had 
become  quite  used  to  being  boxed  on  the  ear ; 
he  minded  them  as  much  as  drops  of  summer 
rain  now.  « «  What's  that  for  ?  " 

His  step-mother  was  unable  to  utter  even  a 
word.  In  speechless  indignation  she  pointed  to 
the  battered  stew-pan.  Pierrot  followed  the  di- 
rection of  her  finger  with  eyes  full  of  suspense 
and  indignation. 

"  Behold  the  ruin  !  "  she  said  tragically. 

"  I  did'nt  think  !"  stammered  Pierrot. 

"  You  never  think,"  returned  his  step-mother. 
"  Why  did  you  take  my  best  stew-pan,  and  use 
it  thus,  you  ungrateful  boy?  " 

"  I  did'nt  think ;  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  it. 
I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Pierrot,  picking  up  the 
damaged  article.  "I'll  never  be  a  Prussian 
again;  but  one  must  have  something  on  his 


74  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

head  when  one  is  a  Prussian,  you  know,  for  the 
French  strike  so  hard." 

"As  I  see,"  Madame  returned,  gazing  upon 
her  stew-pan.  "  X o  dinner  for  you  to-day, 
no  dinner — go  up  to  the  garret." 

And  Pierrot  went,  and  was  locked  in ;  but 
Madame,  in  her  excitement,  forgot  that  there 
was  a  store  of  bread  and  dried  fruit  in  the  gar- 
ret. Pierrot,  however,  soon  found  this  out. 

Experience  had  taught  Madame  that  extreme 
quietness  on  Pierrot's  part  was  a  sure  sign  of 
brewing  mischief.  As  Pierrot  made  no  noise 
her  fears  were  aroused,  and  she  accordingly 
went  up  stairs  to  see  what  he  was  doing.  Her 
indignation  was  very  great,  indeed,  when  she 
discovered  the  ravages  her  step-son  made  in  the 
provisions ;  but  when  Pierrot  begged  her  to 
admire  an  animal,  either  a  dog  or  cow,  which 
he  had  drawn  with  charcoal  on  her  white  gar- 
ret wall,  was  much  greater. 

"  Very  well,  my  boy,"  she  said,  very  well ; 
you  have  spoiled  my  nice  white  wall,  but  you 
shan't  escape  punishment.  To-morrow  I  shall 
send  you  to  Le  Cheval  Rouge." 

Pierrot  with  tears  in  his  eyes  protested 
against  this  sentence,  and  begged  pardon  for 
his  fault ;  but  his  step-mother  was  inexorable  ; 


FLOATING   ON   A    BOARD.  75 

as  she  noticed  several  half  eaten  pears,  and  her 
diminished  stock  of  dried  cherries,  she  felt 
that  no  punishment  could  be  too  severe  for  the 
young  culprit. 

Le  Cheval  Rouge,  or,  The  Red  Horse, 
was  an  inn  in  Nantes.  Its  landlady  was  a 
friend  of  Madame  Choux.  The  latter  had 
often  threatened  to  send  Pierrot  there,  as  an 
apprentice  to  cook.  Pierrot  did  not  like  the 
idea  at  all.  His  father  had  owned  a  small 
farm  about  a  mile  from  the  town,  and  Pierrot 
dreamed  of  working  on  it  at  some  future  time. 
Meanwhile  he  wanted  to  stay  where  he  was. 
He  attended  one  of  the  Brothers'  schools  and, 
in  spite  of  his  mischievous  tricks,  was  a  fine 
scholar.  To  do  him  justice,  he  was  not  a  bad 
boy,  although  he  was  exceedingly  thoughtless  ; 
and  it  seemed  hard,  indeed,  that  he  should  be 
made  a  cook  in  spite  of  himself.  It  was  hard 
to  think  that  he  should  be  sent  away  from 
home  and  among  strangers. 

Madame  Choux  did  not  relent ;  and  one  fine 
morning  Pierrot,  with  eyes  red  from  weeping, 
and  with  his  basket,  containing  his  clothes  and 
two  white  mice,  presented  himself  at  Le 
Cheval  Rouge. 

He  was   not  received  very  kindly,  for  the 


76  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

landlady  had  heard  of  his  doings  from  his  step- 
mother, and  she  told  him  if  he  wanted  to  wear 
one  of  her  stew-pans,  instead  of  a  hat,  she 
would  make  it  red-hot  for  him  before  he  put 
it  on.  Poor  Pierrot  hung  his  head  in  silence. 

Time  passed  ;  Pierrot  had  a  hard  time  at  the 
inn.  He  thought  with  regret  of  his  pleasant 
school  days,  and  his  long  walks  along  the 
beautiful  Loire.  He  was  kept  running  from 
morning  till  night.  He  had  no  leisure  now 
for  playing  tricks,  but  in  spite  of  his  ap- 
parent quietness,  the  reputation  he  had  gained 
still  clung  to  him.  When  anything  went 
wrong,  the  blame  was,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
usually  left  on  his  shoulders,  and  bad  accounts 
were  often  carried  to  his  step-mother. 

"The  ungrateful  boy! "she  would  exclaim, 
"  he  will  never  come  to  a  good  end." 

Summer  passed,  and  with  autumn  came  a 
great  deal  of  rain,  so  that  the  river  rose  above  its 
banks,  overflowing  the  surrounding  country. 

Madame  Choux's  house  stood  detatched 
from  the  others  and  very  near  the  river. 
When  the  water  rose  it  washed  against  the 
house  with  much  force,  and  gradually  reached 
the  level  of  the  second  floor.  Unfortunately, 
the  house  was  situated  on  low  ground. 


FLOATING   ON   A   BOARD.  77 

Le  Cheval  Rouge  was  comparatively  safe 
from  the  encroaching  flood.  As  soon  as  Pierrot 
heard  of  the  inundation,  he  hurried  to  some 
rising  ground,  in  order  to  observe  a  view  of  his 
step-mother's  house.  To  his  surprise,  he  found 
that  the  whole  space  between  himself  and  the 
dwelling  was  one  rippling  expanse  of  water. 

"Where  is  my  step-mother?  Where  is 
Madame  Choux  ?  Have  you  seen  her  ?  "  he  asked 
anxiously,  of  one  of  the  bystanders. 

No  one  had  seen  her.  Pierrot  called  out 
loudly  for  her.  But  there  was  no  response. 
His  anxiety  increased.  She  had  never  been 
very  kind  to  him,  but  the  thought  that  she 
might  be  in  danger  filled  him  with  fear.  She 
was  sick  in  bed,  perhaps  unable  to  move,  and 
the  river  was  still  rising.  Boats  were  plying 
in  various  directions,  removing  people  and 
furniture  from  the  flooded  dwellings.  They 
were  all  engaged  however.  Pierrot  could  not 
procure  one.  In  the  meantime,  Madame  Choux 
might  be  drowning. 

A  peasant's  cart  was  standing  on  the  hill. 
Beside  it  lay  several  long  and  very  wide  boards. 
Seeing  these,  a  new  idea  entered  Pierrot's  head. 
He  threw  one  of  these  into  the  water,  and  seizing 
a  pole  from  a  bundle  of  newly  cut  saplings, 


78  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

which  were  tied  up  in  the  cart,  he  sprang  upon 
the  board,  much  to  the  wonder  of  the  lookers  on. 

"  I  will  bring  Madame  Choux  back  on  this," 
he  said,  in  answer  to  their  exclamations,  "  and 
I'll  swim  back  myself." 

Pierrot  stood  on  the  board  and,  with  a 
prayer  on  his  lips,  struck  out  boldly,  pushing 
along  by  means  of  his  pole.  The  water  soon 
became  very  deep  and  the  pole  was  useless. 
Then  he  knelt  on  his  knees  and  paddled  with 
his  hands.  He  proceeded  very  slowly,  but  at 
last  reached  the  house. 

The  water  was  scarcely  a  foot  above  the  win- 
dow of  the  second  story.  Into  this  window 
Pierrot  climbed,  drawing  his  board  in  after  him. 
He  saw  at  once  he  had  not  come  in  vain.  His 
step-mother  was  seated  on  the  floor,  unable  to 
move,  her  head  just  appearing  above  the  surface 
of  the  flood.  She  uttered  a  cry  of  joy  as  she 
saw  Pierrot. 

Pierrot  spoke  some  words  of  encouragement, 
and  keeping  one  end  of  the  board  on  the  window, 
pushed  the  other  through  until  it  rested  on  the 
sill  of  the  opposite  window,  thus  forming  a 
bridge  across  the  room. 

"  This  is  dry  at  least,"  he  said,  advancing  on 
it  to  the  middle  of  the  room.  "  Now,  mother, 
let  me  help  you  to  get  up  there." 


FLOATING   ON   A  BOARD.  79 

"  I  cannot  move,  Pierrot,"  she  said  ;  "I  fell 
from  the  ladder  and  sprained  my  ankle.  The 
water  is  rising. —  O,  Pierrot,  I  shall  drown  !  " 

"No,  you  shan't!"  said  Pierrot.  "Here, 
give  me  your  two  hands,  and  try  to  stand  up. 
Now ! "  With  her  step-son's  assistance,  and 
many  groans,  Madame  Choux  at  last  arose  to 
her  feet,  and  was  helped  to  mount  the  board. 

"You  have  saved  my  life,  Pierrot;  between 
fright  and  pain  I  could  not  move." 

The  ladder  that  led  up  to  the  garret  window 
had  been  washed  away  in  the  rushing  of  the 
flood  ;  and  so  Pierrot  and  his  step-mother  were 
obliged  to  remain  on  the  board,  until  a  boat 
came  in  answer  to  their  signals. 

They  reached  dry  land  in  safety,  and  the 
mistress  of  the  Red  Horse  was  graciously 
pleased  to  call  Pierrot  a  brave  little  fellow, 
and  to  say  he  might  be  worth  something  yet. 

His  step-mother  embraced  him  tenderly, 
scolding  him  at  the  same  time  for  having  been 
so  reckless  as  to  venture  out  on  a  board. 

"  I  thought  I  was  going  to  die,"  she  whis- 
pered to  her  friend  the  landlady,  "  and  with 
the  river  all  around  me,  I  examined  my  con- 
science well,  you  may  be  sure.  I  think  I  have 
been  too  harsh  with  the  boy." 


80  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

Pierrot  left  Le  Cheval  Rouge,  and  went 
home  after  the  flood  had  subsided.  He  has 
resumed  his  studies,  and  Madame  Choux  and 
he  live  on  the  best  of  terms.  His  experience 
at  the  Red  Horse  learned  him  the  value  of  home, 
and  I  am  sure  he  takes  care  not  to  incur  its 
loss  by  any  mischievous  tricks. 

The  last  time  I  was  in  Nantes,  I  asked  the 
venerable  cure  who  was  the  best  boy  in  his 
parish,  and  he  answered  : 

"Pierrot  Choux;  or,  Pierrot  of  the  board, 
as  his  school-fellows  called  him." 


JUNE   ROSES 


SUCH  a  beautiful  morning  !  The  azure  sky 
was  flooded  with  sunlight,  which,  escaping 
from  the  meshes  of  the  graceful  white  clouds, 
was  just  beginning  to  touch  the  earth  and  sip 
the  dew  from  the  grass. 

The  grass  in  the  Thornes'  yard  was  not  capa- 
ble of  accommodating  half  a  pint  of  dew,  and 
so  the  sun  did  not  gain  much  by  sipping  from 
it.  The  Thornes'  yard  was  so  very  small. 
There  was  a  grass-plot  in  the  centre,  and 
around  it  in  a  circle  grew  flowers — pansies, 
heliotropes,  and  two  rose-bushes. 

TWO  little  girls  in  very  large  straw  hats  were 
extremely  busy  in  this  garden,  which  was  sur- 
rounded by  tall,  brick  houses  on  every  side. 
One  little  girl  was  searching  for  any  tiny  weed 
that  might  presume  to  show  itself  above  the 
ground ;  the  other  was  looking  for  bugs  and 

81 


82  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

worms  among  the  leaves  of  her  cherished  plants. 

"  Oh,  Nora  !  do  come  here  !  "  cried  Bridget 
Thome,  addressing  her  sister.  "  Two  new 
buds  half  open  !  Isn't  it  funny  that  we  didn't 
see  them  last  night !  Oh,  how  sweet  they  are  ! " 
And  Bridget  bent  her  head  down  among  the 
thorns  and  leaves  of  the  bush,  to  inhale  the 
odor  of  the  buds.  She  drew  it  up  rather 
quickly,  however,  with  a  long  red  scratch  on 
her  nose. 

"  Just  like  me,"  she  said  ruefully.  "  I  never 
can  do  things  carefully. " 

"That's  because  you  never  try  ;  "  and  Nora, 
gently  pushing  back  the  thorny  branches,  en- 
joyed the  perfume  to  her  heart's  content. 

"There's no  rose  without  its  thorn,"  returned 
Bridget,  with  the  air  of  a  philosopher. 

"  These  pale,  white  roses  are  such  beauties  ! 
Why,  here's  two  more  buds.  The  next  day 
after  to-morrow  is  Corpus  Christi.  We'll  have 
a  lovely  bouquet  for  the  High  Altar,  if  there 
are  any  flowers  on  the  other  bush." 

"There  are  five  crimson  buds  ready  to 
open,"  announced  Nora. 

Bridget  gave  a  little  scream  of  delight,  and 
dashed  headforemost  into  the  red  rose-bush. 

"  Take  care,  Bridget,"  cried  her  sister,   "  or 


JUNE   ROSES.  83 


your  face  will  look  like  a  map,  with  the  rivers 
drawn  in  red  ink  !  " 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Bridget,  "heliotrope, 
pansies,  roses,  and  geranium-leaves.  That  will 
make  a  very  pretty  nosegay." 

"  A  nosegay  with  a  meaning,  "  replied  Nora. 
"The  red  roses  remind  me  of  Our  Saviour's 
Blood  ;  the  white  roses  of  the  stainless  heart  of 
His  Mother ;  the  pansies  mean  thought,  and 
tell  me  to  think  of  these  things  ;  and  the  helio- 
trope must  mean  prayer,  for  its  perfume  is  al- 
ways ascending." 

"  I'm  glad  you  told  me,  Nora,"  said  her  sis- 
ter, "for  I  never  should  have  thought  of  it  my- 
self." 

"Good-morning,  girls  !"  called  a  shrill,  pip- 
ing voice  above  them. 

"Who's  that?"  they  both  asked. 

"  Good-morning,  girls  !  Good-morning,  girls  ! 
Good-morning,  girls  ! " 

The  girls  looked  up,  and  saw  suspended  to  a 
nail,  under  a  second-story  window,  a  small 
cage  with  bright  steel  bars.  In  the  casre  was  a 

o  fj  Q 

little  bird  with  blue-tipped  wings. 

"It's  only  Jack's  jay,"  said  Nora.  "Jack 
has  taught  him  to  say  '  Good-morning.' " 

"Dear   me?"   said   Bridget,   in   an  injured 


84  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

tone,  "Jack  hasn't  a  bit  of  politeness.  He 
might  teach  his  bird  to  say  '  Good-morning, 
young  ladies,'  instead  of  '  girls.' " 

"  But  we  are  girls,"  said  Nora. 

"  People  needn't  be  always  telling  us  so.  If 
I  had  a  long  dress,  and  my  hair  all  wriggled 
about,  I'd  look  more  like  a  young  lady  than 
that  hateful,  stuck  up"  — 

"Bridget!" 

"  "Well,  I  won't  say  any  more.  Charlie  is  a 
pretty  bird.  Charlie  !  " 

Charlie  responded  by  imitating  a  dog  bark- 
ing. 

"Brother  Jack  thinks  a  great  deal  of  that 
bird,"  said  Nora.  "It's  about  a  year  since 
Uncle  Robert  brought  Charlie  here." 

"  Oh,  Nora  !"  broke  in  her  sister,  "do  you 
remember  that  beautiful  house  we  passed  in 
our  walk  with  papa  last  Sunday  afternoon  ?  " 

"Up  on  the  hill?" 

"Yes.  Well,  Mr.  Morgan  lives  there.  One 
day  last  week  he  came  past  our  house  just  as 
Charlie  was  whistling  'Yankee  Doodle.'  He 
stopped  and  listened,  and  then  wanted  to  buy 
Charlie,  but  Jack  wouldn't  sell  him.  Mr. 
Morgan  said  that  if  he  changed  his  mind  he 

O  O 

might  take  Charlie  up  to  the  house  on  the 
hill." 


JUNE   KOSES.  85 


"  Jack  won't  change  his  mind.  He  likes 
Charlie  too  well.  We  had  better  go  in  and 
get  ready  for  school.  I'm  in  a  hurry  to  tell  all 
the  girls  about  our  roses." 

"  Roses  are  very  scarce  this  June,"  said  Nora, 
as  the  two  sisters  entered  the  house.  "  I  looked 
through  the  bars  of  Mr.  Morgan's  garden  gate 
and  saw  that  he  has  some ;  but  beside  his  and 
ours,  I  haven't  seen  a  single  rose  in  town." 

The  next  morning  a  chorus,  or  rather,  a  duet 
of  lamentation  was  heard  in  the  Thornes'  yard. 
The  two  girls,  on  coming  down  to  resume  their 
gardening  operations  as  usual,  had  discovered 
that  there  was  not  a  single  bud  left  on  either 
of  the  rose  bushes.  Who  had  taken  the  buds? 

"  Let  us  ask  Jack,"  said  Bridget,  trying  not 
to  cry. 

''Jack  doesn't  know  anything  about  it,  I'm 
sure,"  said  Nora. 

But  Bridget  called  him. 

"  You  girls  will  never  let  a  fellow  be  quiet," 
said  Jack,  who  had  been  trying  to  '  do '  a 
stubborn  sum  in  fractions.  "  What  do  you 
want?" 

' '  Do  you  know  who  took  our  roses  ?  " 

"Why  I  took 'em,"  said  Jack.  "Each  of 
our  fellows  wore  one  in  his  jacket  button-hole, 


86  STORIES  AND    SKETCHES. 

last  night,  at  the  club.  It  was  Jim  Reilley's 
birthday,  you  know." 

Jack's  club  met  every  Tuesday  evening,  in  a 
room  over  Mrs.  Thome's  back  kitchen.  Its 
members  were  boys  belonging  to  the  school  that 
Jack  attended.  The  club  read  compositions, 
made  speeches,  and  played  checkers ;  but  they 
were  strictly  forbidden  to  sing  in  concert. 
They  had  done  so  once,  and  the  neighbors  had 
arisen  in  a  body  and  protested  against  it. 

' '  And  so  you  took  all  our  roses  for  that  old 
club  ! "  cried  Bridget.  ' '  Selfish  boy  ! " 

"And  we  intended  to  take  them  to  church  for 
the  tabernacle,"  said  Nora  beginning  to  cry. 

"How  was  I  to  know  that?"  demanded  Jack, 
feeling  sorry. 

"  Couldn't  you  ask  ! "  said  Bridget.  "  Come 
away,  Nora ;  I  wouldn't  c-r-r-y  ! "  and  Bridget 
thrust  her  fingers  into  her  eyes,  and  ran  into 
the  house. 

Jack  was  really  sorry  for  his  thoughtlessness. 
But  how  could  he  remedy  it  now?  he  asked 
himself.  There  were  few  roses  this  year.  Mr. 
Morgan's  bushes  and  those  of  Jack's  sisters  were 
the  only  ones  in  bloom ;  he  did  not  like  the 
thought  of  asking  Mr.  Morgan  for  some  of  his 
roses,  and  he  was  sure  that  gentleman  would 


JUNE   ROSES.  87 


not  sell  them  for  money.  But  Mr.  Morgan 
offered  to  buy  Charlie.  He  knew  that  Mr. 
Morgan  would  give  him  any  number  of  roses 
for  the  bird.  Jack  thought  that  he  could  not 
part  with  the  dear  little  fellow.  He  went  up 
stairs,  allowed  Charlie  to  hop  from  the  cage 
and  perch  upon  his  finger.  Charlie,  knowingly, 
twinkled  his  eyes  and  said:  "Good-morning." 

"  Yes  you  must  go,  Charlie,  for  I  can't  spoil 
Nora  and  Bridget's  pleasure,  and  I  must  give 
them  some  roses  for  the  tabernacle,"  Jack 
sighed. 

Feeling  very  sad,  Jack  took  Charlie  and  his 
cage,  and  walked  up  to  the  house  on  the  hill. 
It  was  a  very  fine  house  indeed,  with  young 
trees  growing  around  it,  and  surrounded  by  a 
irarden  filled  with  the  choicest  flowers.  Jack's 

o 

heart  sank  as  he  rang  the  bell. 

Mr.  Morgan  took  Charlie,  and  gave  Jack  a 
huge  bunch  of  red,  pink,  yellow,  and  white 
roses,  telling  him  at  the  same  time  that  he 
might  have  some  of  his  best  plants  as  soon  as 
they  could  be  safely  removed. 

Jack  was  glad  that  he  made  this  sacrifice 
when  he  saw  how  greatly  his  sisters  were 
delighted  by  the  wealth  of  flowers  he  brought 
them. 


STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 


On  the  following  morning,  when  Jack  awoke, 
he  heard  somebody  calling  out :  ' '  Good-morn- 
ing!" 

He  looked  from  his  window,  and  saw  Charlie 
perched  on  a  twig,  just  without. 

Jack  took  him  back  to  Mr.  Morgan.  But 
whenever  Charlie  could  escape  he  invariably 
flew  to  Jack's  window,  and  said  :  "  Good-morn- 
ing ! "  then  he  would  quietly  wait  to  be  carried 
back  to  his  new  master. 


A  PASSION  FLOWER. 


MAY  had  come,  crowned  with  pansies  and 
clover-blossoms,  and  staggering  beneath 
her  great  load  of  the  flowers  of  the  peach  and 
cherry.  With  the  golden  sunshine  adding  a 
deeper  tinge  to  her  buttercups  and  dandelions, 
and  with  an  ocean  of  perfume  flowing  from  her 
floral  burden,  she  hastens  each  year  to  throw 
herself  at  the  feet  of  the  Blessed  Mother. 

Through  the  balmy  air  and  through  the 
morning  sunlight,  which  touched  each  head 
with  its  warm  lingers  as  if  in  benediction,  a 
long  line  of  boys  and  girls  were  entering  a 
church.  They  were  going  in  procession  to 
honor  the  May  Queen  —  the  fairest  and  purest 
of  all  created  beings. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  street,  watching  the 
procession,  stood  a  little  newsboy  within  the 
shadow  of  the  wall.  He  was  a  small  boy —  ap- 


90  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

parently  not  over  ten  years  of  age.  His  clothes 
were  clean  and  neatly  patched.  He  looked 
wistfully  at  the  crowd  of  happy  children,  until 
a  slight  breeze  rustling  among  the  unsold 
morning  papers  in  his  hand  reminded  him  of 
"  business." 

He  started  to  move  on  when  two  ladies 
passed  him,  one  of  them  carrying  a  large  bou- 
quet. Ned  Murphy,  the  newsboy,  ran  after 
them.  "  Morning  papers,  ladies  !" 

The  ladies  stopped,  and  the  one  with  the 
flowers  took  out  her  pocketbook,  but  Ned 
Murphy  forgot  the  pennies  she  gave  him ;  he 
even  forgot  to  give  her  a  paper ;  he  just  stood 
still  and  looked  at  the  flowers.  Poor  Ned  had 
never  seen  any  floral  production  more  beauti- 
ful than  the  stunted  geraniums  that  he  kept  in 
a  cracked  cup  at  home.  This  lady's  bouquet 
was  really  exquisite,  and  Ned  devoured  it  with 
his  eyes.  The  owner  gazed  at  him  with  an 
amused  smile. 

"  Gracious,  how  the  child  stares  !  "  said  her 
companion. 

Ned  blushed,  picked  up  his  papers  and 
thanked  the  ladies.  The  one  with  the  bouquet 
broke  off  a  flower  and  gave  it  to  Ned.  The 
boy  was  overwhelmed  with  gratitude. 


A    PASSION   FLOWER.  91 

' '  You  have  given  him  the  passion-flower  — 
the  only  one  !  " 

"  So  I  have  !     But  it  can't  be  helped  now." 

Ned  by  this  time  was  fully  a  square  ahead, 
with  the  precious  flower  in  his  button-hole, 
holding  his  hand  over  it,  for  fear  some  envious 
comrade  might  snatch  the  treasure. 

He  stopped  at  each  street  fountain  on  his 
way  to  sprinkle  the  flower  with  water,  in  order 
that  it  might  not  wither.  When  his  papers 
were  all  sold,  he  sat  down  on  a  shady  door- 
step to  contemplate  his  prize.  How  beautiful 
it  was  !  Ned  thought  he  could  see  all  the  in- 
struments of  Our  Saviour's  Passion  within  its 
purple  petals.  He  did  not  notice  the  flight  of 
time  as  he  held  the  flower  in  various  positions, 
and  enjoyed  its  beauty  in  different  lights. 

Ned's  life-story  was  a  very  short  one  :  His 
mother  had  died  when  he  was  a  baby.  His 
father  was  a  sailor,  and  had  gone  to  sea,  plac- 
ing him  in  charge  of  an  old  woman  who  kept 
an  apple  stand  on  a  corner.  This  old  woman 
died,  leaving  him  her  business,  and  to  his  own 
resources.  Ned  was  not  successful  in  the  apple 
business.  He  was  naturally  tender-hearted, 
and  he  allowed  a  school-boy  to  run  up  a  bill 
for  a  dollar's  worth  of  pippins.  The  school-boy 


92  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

refused  to  pay,  and  Ned  became  insolvent. 
After  this  he  went  into  the  paper  business,  a 
sadder  and  a  wiser  boy.  Ned  lodged  in  a 
small  garret  at  the  top  of  a  tenement  house. 

Ned  had  taught  himself  to  read  by  means  of 
the  signboards  and  the  headings  of  his  papers. 

He  longed  ardently  for  books,  and  he  read 
eagerly  anything  that  came  in  his  way.  He 
had  been  taught  his  prayers  by  the  old  apple 
woman,  and  among  other  things,  he  had  read 
part  of  an  old  catechism.  So  he  was  not  ill- 
instructed  ;  but  he  had  never  been  Confirmed, 
nor  had  he  ever  made  his  first  Communion. 

When  Ned  again  passed  the  church  on  his  way 
to  obtain  more  papers,  the  procession  of  children 
was  coining  out.  He  stood  and  watched  it  as 
he  had  before  done,  and  when  they  had  all  gone 
he  entered  the  empty  church  himself.  Ned 
went  up  to  the  altar  rails.  The  faint  scent  of 
incense  lingered  in  the  air ;  a  flood  of  crimson 
light  fell  from  the  stained  window  upon  the 
white  lilies  grouped  around  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin's altar.  Ned  knelt  down.  The  altar  was 
almost  hidden  in  the  flowers  which  the  children 
had  brought.  Ned  felt  a  pang  as  he  thought 
lie  had  nothing  to  offer  to  that  Holy  Mother. 

Yes,  he  had !  his  prayers   and   his  passion- 


A   PASSION  FLOWER.  93 

flower.  He  softly  took  the  flower  from  the 
button  hole  of  his  jacket,  and  laid  it  reverently 
within  the  altar  rails. 

Shortly  afterwards,  the  lady  who  had  bought 
the  paper  from  Ned  that  morning  knelt  at  the 
same  altar.  She  noticed  her  own  passion- 
flower within  the  rails,  and,  as  she  went  out, 
saw  Ned  going  down  the  steps. 

This  lady  —  Mrs.  Woodleigh  was  her  name 

—  felt  interested   in  the  little  boy    who    had 
offered  the  one  bright  object  he  possessed  to 
the  Queen  of  May.     Mrs.  Woodleigh  spoke  to 
him,  and  by  degrees  learned  his  story.     She 
walked  along  with  him  to  the  newspaper  office  ; 
by  which  condescension  Ned  was  greatly  con- 
fused, flattered  and  delighted ;  and  one  of  his 
brother  newsboys,  seeing  it,  became  so  polite 
as  to  offer  him  a  bite  out  of  a  very  hard  apple 

—  a  mark  of  favor  which  Ned  never  received 
from  that  particular  boy. 

Mrs.  Woodleigh  did  not  lose  sight  of  Ned. 
She  gave  him  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  in  which  to 
attend  Mass  and  Catechism  every  Sunday  ;  and 
after  a  time  she  succeeded  in  procuring  him  a 
place  as  assistant  to  a  friend's  gardener. 

Ned  is  very  happy  now.  He  helps  his  old 
comrades,  the  newsboys,  whenever  he  can,  and 


94 


STORIES   AND    SKETCHES. 


Mrs.  Woodleigh   often  makes  him  the  instru- 
ment of  distributing  her  bounty. 

Ned  is  very  thankful,  too.  Looking  back, 
he  very  often  wonders  what  he  would  have 
been  now,  had  he  not  laid  a  passion-flower  on 
the  altar  that  morning  in  May. 


BLUFFS  BOY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ALONE  IN  THE  WORLD. 

TOM  BLUFF  was  a  sailor.  The  phrase 
"  rough  and  ready"  describes  him  exactly. 
He  was  neither  very  young  nor  very  old.  You 
could  not  get  nearer  his  age  than  that.  In  fact, 
he  did  not  know  the  year  or  day  of  his  birth, 
but  when  he  went  ashore  and  took  a  drop  too 
much,  he  always  did  it  on  pretense  of  keeping 
his  birthday. 

He  was  good-natured  and  good-hearted  ;  but 
if  he  did  not  mend  his  ways,  his  future,  in  this 
world  and  the  next,  was  not  likely  to  be  very 
happy. 

One  evening,  when  his  ship  was  in  port  and 
he  had  been  keeping  his  birthday  —  about  the 
sixth  that  year  —  he  went  reeling  through  the 

95 


96  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

streets  to  his  boarding-house  ;  his  foot  slipped, 
he  tried  to  steady  himself,  failed,  and  fell,  strik- 
ing his  head  on  the  corner  of  the  curbstone  that 
bounded  the  sidewalk. 

The  street  ran  along  the  wharves  and  was 
seldom  frequented  after  business  hours.  Tom 
Bluff  might  have  lain  there  all  night,  alone  and 
unassisted,  had  not  a  small  boy  crept  from 
under  a  pile  of  packing-boxes  and  hesitatingly 
approached  the  prostrate  sailor.  The  stone 
had  made  a  sharp  cut  in  Tom's  head,  from 
which  a  stream  of  blood  was  slowly  trickling. 

The  small  boy  raised  the  head  of  the  uncon- 
scious sailor,  examined  the  cut,  and  then  went 
back  to  the  boxes.  In  a  short  time  he  returned 
with  a  large  coarse  bag.  The  dusk  of  evening 
was  fast  giving  place  to  the  darkness  of  night. 
Having  torn  a  large  piece  from  the  bag,  the  boy 
lighted  a  match  and  again  looked  at  the  wound. 

He  staunched  the  flowing  blood  with  a  portion 
of  the  bag,  and  with  another  bandaged  the  cut. 

After  awhile  Tom  Bluff  opened  his  eyes.  He 
was  quite  sober  now.  He  raised  his  hand  and 
felt  the  rough  cloth  on  his  head. 

"  Hey,  youngster,  what  does  this  mean?"  he 
demanded. 

"You  fell  and  cut  your  head,   sir,"  replied 


BLUFF'S  BOY.  97 

the  boy,  speaking  with  a  refined  accent  that  ac- 
corded ill  with  his  ragged  clress.  "  Can  you 
walk?" 

"I  am  rather  unsteady  on  my  pins,"  mut- 
tered Tom,  trying  to  rise,  "  but  I  guess  I  can 
manage  to  get  up  and  get." 

"I'll  help  you  over  to  the  boxes,  and  then 
I'll  run  for  a  doctor." 

"No,  sir-ee  !  "  interrupted  Tom.  "  No  doc- 
tor need  apply  ;  I  am  only  a  little  topsy-turvy. 
Give  us  a  lift,  youngster,  and  I'll  be  all  right 
in  a  second." 

Tom  succeeded  in  reaching  the  boxes,  and 
stretched  himself  on  the  pavement  with  his 
back  against  one  of  them. 

"  Much  obliged,  youngster,"  he  said,  having 
made  himself  as  comfortable  as  circumstances 
would  allow  ;  "  do  you  live  hereabouts?" 

"I  don't  live  anywhere  in  particular,"  said 
the  boy,  creeping  into  a  box  that  was  turned 
on  its  side. 

"  What !  "  demanded  Tom.  "  Don't  go  try- 
in'  to  stuff  me,  boy." 

"I  live  wherever  I  can,  and  it's  mighty 
hard  to  find  a  place  sometimes." 

"Great  Julius  Caesar !  "  exclaimed  Tom, 
opening  his  eyes  in  amazement.  "  You  don't 


98  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

tell  me  so ;  a   whipper-snapper    like    you    all 
alone  in  the  world  !     What's  your  name  ?  " 
"Lewis  Arlyn." 

' '  Where  are  your  parents  ?  " 

"  My  mother  is  dead  since  spring,"  answered 
the  boy,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  paid  my  father 
was  wrecked  at  sea." 

"  Before  the  mast,  I'll  be  bound  !  A  sailor, 
was  he  ?  " 

"  No,  he  went  away  from  mother  and  me  on 
business,  and  never  came  back.  He  went  in  a 
ship  called  the  Ariel." 

"  Went  to  pieces  out  at  sea,  I've  heard. 
And  so  your  mother  waited  for  him,  and  then 
died?" 

"  Yes  ;  two  months  ago." 

"  Poor  boy,"  muttered  the  sailor,  winking 
violently.  "Blame  it!  the  damp  gets  into  a 
fellow's  eyes  on  nights  like  these." 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

"How  on  earth  do  you  get  along,  young- 
ster?" 

"  I  sell  matches  during  the  day."  And 
Lewis  Arlyn  took  several  bundles  from  the 
packing-box.  "They're  first  rate,  sir;  war- 
ranted to  strike  fire  at " 

"  Eye  to    business,  I    see,"  laughed     Tom. 


BLUFF'S  BOY.  99 

"Well,  I'm  better  now;  come  and  help  me 
home." 

Catching  hold  of  Lewis'  hand,  the  sailor  rose 
to  his  feet.  As  the  two  went  slowly  through 
the  streets,  Tom  reflected  deeply.  Lewis  was 
about  to  take  his  leave  when  they  reached  the 
boarding-house,  but  Tom  held  him  by  the 
shoulder. 

"Look  here,  sonny,"  he  said  in  his  rough, 
but  kindly  tone,  "  I'm  going  to  adopt  you.  I'll 
give  you  an  education,  though  I'll  have  to  give 
up  my  birthday  and  stop  my  grog  to  raise  the 
needful.  Come  in,  I  say." 

And  the  astonished  boy  suddenly  found  him- 
self adopted  by  Tom  Bluff. 

Time  passed.  Tom  became  each  day  more 
attached  to  Lewis.  The  boy  was  a  marvel  to 
him.  The  way  in  which  he  could  add  up  the 
figures  in  Tom's  rather  mixed  up  accounts  was 
simply  "  stunning,"  as  the  sailor  expressed  it. 

Lewis  Arlyn  was  a  good  boy.  I  don't  mean 
to  say  that  he  was  a  very  quiet  boy,  or  that  he 
did  not  like  fun  and  play,  but  I  do  mean  to  say 
that  .he  was  a  good  Catholic,  and  he  gained  great 
influence  over  Tom,  who,  before  starting  on  his 
next  voyage,  received  Our  Lord  for  the  first 
time  since  his  boyhood. 


100  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

CHAPTER  II. 

BEARS  AND  ICEBERGS. 

For  half  a  year,  while  Tom  Bluff  was  away 
at  sea,  Lewis  went  to  school ;  but  after  awhile 
he  grew  restless,  not  from  dislike  to  school, 
but  because  he  could  not  bear  the  knowledge 
that  Tom  was  working  hard  for  him.  He 
wanted  to  do  something  to  help  his  benefactor. 

Around  his  neck  he  had  worn  a  chain  of 
peculiar  fashion,  to  which  were  attached  a  tiny 
cross  and  medal. 

When  Tom  returned  from  his  second  voyage, 
Lewis  implored  that  on  the  next  he  might  go  as 
cabin-boy.  Tom  argued  against  it,  but  Lewis 
persisted. 

"  Well,"  said  the  sailor  at  last,  "  a  wilful  boy 
must  have  his  way.  But  God  is  on  the  sea  as 
well  as  on  the  land.  You've  made  me  believe 
that,  Lewis,  and  you'll  be  as  safe  up  among  the 
icebergs  as  down  here.  You  shall  be  a  cabin- 
boy,  if  our  captain  will  take  you. 

Lewis  became  a  cabin  boy  on  board  the  Morn- 
ing Star,  bound  for  Greenland.  His  exemplary 
conduct  and  prompt  attention  to  his  duties  made 


BLUFF'S  BOY.  101 


him  a  favorite  with  every  one  on  board.  The 
sailors  called  him  Tom  Bluff's  boy. 

The  Morning  Star  lay  in  an  inlet  on  the 
coast  of  an  island  in  Hudson  Bay.  Around 
the  ship  an  unbroken  field  of  ice  glittered  in 
the  red  light  of  the  Arctic  sun.  In  the  distance, 
majestic  icebergs  reared  their  heads  in  the  cold 
glow  of  the  "frozen  light." 

The  Morning  Star  was  ice-bound.  She 
would  be  compelled  to  remain  in  her  present 
position  until  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice.  This 
generally  takes  place  in  the  month  of  July. 

The  sailors  were  amusing  themselves  on  the 
ice  in  various  ways  —  playing  leap-frog,  build- 
ing sleds,  and  skating. 

Tom  Bluff  and  Lewis  had  wandered  some 
distance  from  the  vessel,  and  were  now  con- 
cealed from  the  view  of  the  men  on  the  ice  by 
an  immense  berg. 

Lewis  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  several 
Esquimaux.  One  Esquimau  boy,  named  Muk- 
he-bc-out,  had  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  Lewis, 
because  he  sometimes  treated  him  to  candles. 
Muk-hc-be-out  devoured  the  tallow  with  great 
relish,  but  he  always  took  care  to  pull  the 
rvicks  from  his  mouth. 

Muk-he-be-out's  father   and   his    two  eldest 


102  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

brothers  were  helping  Tom  and  Lewis  to  build 
a  hut  of  ice  in  the  Esquimau  fashion.  The 
dogs  belonging  to  Muk-he-be-out's  family  were 
fighting  and  snarling  among  themselves  around 
the  hut. 

The  hut-builders  were  too  deeply  engrossed 
in  their  business  to  notice  that  a  large  white 
bear  had  just  rounded  a  corner  of  the  iceberg. 

The  dogs  at  once  set  up  a  shrill  howl. 

Muk-he-be-out  first  noticed  it,  and  seizing 
his  spear,  aimed  a  blow  at  the  bear's  head. 
His  father  and  brothers  also  advanced,  spears 
in  hand,  to  confront  the  intruder. 

Lewis  was  inside  the  half-built  hut,  and  did 
not  hear  the  alarm.  Tom  was  outside,  but  he 
had  no  other  weapon  than  his  knife. 

Before  Muk-he-be-out's  spear  touched  the 
head  of  the  bear,  another  appeared  on  the 
scene.  Taken  by  surprise,  the  two  Esquimaux 
stood  still  for  an  instant,  with  upraised  spears, 
and,  actuated  by  one  impulse,  they  fled  rapidly 
from  the  place. 

Tom  and  Lewis  were  left  to  face  these 
ferocious  animals. 

Lewis  was  unarmed,  and  Tom  knew  it. 
He  grasped  his  knife  tightly.  Lewis  was  still 
in  the  hut.  There  was  no  time  to  lose.  Tom 


BLUFF'S  BOY.  103 

resolved  to  fight  the  bears,  and  give  the  boy 
time  to  escape. 

"  Lewis,"  he  cried,  "  come  out." 

Lewis  emerged  from  the  aperture,  and 
turned  pale  at  the  sight  before  him. 

"Rim,  Lewis,"  said  Tom,  keeping  his  eye 
on  the  foremost  bear.  "  Run  back  to  the  ship 
as  fast  as  you  can." 

"No,"  said  Lewis  hoarsely,  "I'll  not  go 
without  you." 

"  Go  !  "  cried  Tom.  "These  monsters  would 
tear  us  to  pieces  before  we  could  run  a  hundred 
yards.  Run,  while  I  keep  them  at  bay." 

"  I'll  stand  by  you,"  said  Lewis,  seizing  a 
block  of  ice  as  a  weapon  of  defence. 

The  foremost  bear  raised  himself  upon  his 
legs  and  sprang  forward  upon  Tom.  The  sailor 
fell  backwards  with  the  weight  of  the  ponder- 
ous paws  on  his  shoulders. 

Lewis  set  his  teeth  hard,  and  murmured  a 
prayer,  at  the  same  time  preparing  to  launch 
his  block  of  ice. 

Tom  lay  wholly  at  the  mercy  of  the  bear.  In 
falling,  his  knife  had  been  knocked  from  his  hand. 

Suddenly  a  pistol-shot  reechoed  among  the 
ice  mountains.  The  foremost  bear  uttered  a 
roar  of  pain,  and,  leaving  Tom,  hastened  to 


104  STORIES   AND    SKETCHES. 

meet  a  new  assailant.  Another  pistol-ball 
brought  him  to  the  ice,  roaring  with  rage  and 
pain.  The  second  bear,  probably  thinking 
that  discretion  was  the  best  part  of  valor, 
turned  tail  and  disappeared  behind  the  iceberg. 

A  man,  clad  in  the  fur  dress  and  hood  of  the 
Esquimaux,  and  carrying  a  revolver  in  his 
hand,  emerged  from  among  the  heaps  of  ice 
and  lichen-covered  rocks. 

Not  noticing  Lewis,  the  man  fired  another 
shot  at  the  bear.  With  a  low,  rumbling  groan, 
the  animal  expired.  He  knelt  down  near  Tom 
to  examine  his  injuries.  He  had  just  succeeded 
in  loosening  the  sailor's  neck-cloth  when  he 
turned  pale,  and  seemed  about  to  fall.  He 
caught  sight  of  the  tiny  cross  that  Lewis  had 
given  Tom. 

Tom  was  only  stunned.  The  color  came 
back  to  his  face,  and  he  started  up. 

"That  cross!"  gasped  the  stranger,  speak- 
ing English.  "Where  did  you  get  it?"  He 
clutched  Tom's  arm  convulsively. 

"Why  that  belongs  to  Lewis,"  said  Tom, 
rather  bewildered.  "Where  is  Lewis?" 

"Lewis!" 

Lewis  knew  that  voice.  With  a  glad  cry  he 
ran  forward  into  the  stranger's  arms. 


BLUFF'S  BOY.  105 


The  man  in  Esquimau  dress  was  Lewis  Ar- 
lyn's  father. 

The  Ariel  had  been  wrecked  in  Hudson  Bay. 
It  was  crushed  between  two  icebergs. 

Mr.  Arlyn  was  the  only  person  who  survived 
the  disaster,  which  had  occurred  further  up  the 
coast.  He  had  been  treated  kindly  by  the 
Esquimaux.  Among  them  he  had  watched  and 
waited  for  the  coming  of  a  vessel  to  deliver  him. 
Hearing  that  a  ship  was  weather-bound  on  the 
coast  of  the  island,  he  had  come,  fearing  yet 
hoping  to  make  sure  of  it.  He  had  arrived  in 
time  to  save  Lewis  and  Tom  from  a  horrible 
death. 

The  Morning  Star  safely  reached  home. 

Tom  no  longer  goes  down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 
He  lives  with  Lewis  and  his  father.  They  are 
all  happy.  Mr.  Arlyn  is  happy  because  he  has 
found  his  son ;  Lewis  is  happy  because  he  has 
found  his  father ;  Tom  is  happy  because  Lewis 
is  happy,  and  they  are  all  happy  because  they 
are  all  good. 

Don't  you  think  the  last  reason  is  •  the  best 
reason  for  happiness. 


A  SPRIG  OF  SHAMROCK. 


ON  a  certain  March  morning,  when  the  air 
was  full  of  sunlight,  and  the  faint  breath 
of  early  spring,  Joe  Murphy  canie  down  stairs 
whistling  blithely  as  a  lark. 

In  the  small  room  which  served  the  Murphys 
as  parlor,  dining-room,  and  kitchen,  Mrs. 
Murphy  was  getting  breakfast  ready  —  break- 
fast for  two,  for  Mrs.  Murphy  and  her  son  were 
all  the  family. 

The  room  was  a  perfect  picture  of  neatness. 
From  the  snow-white  boards  of  the  floor  to  the 
clean,  polished  glass  that  covered  the  print  of 
Our  Lady  of  Sorrows  on  the  wall,  every  object 
in  the  poorly-furnished  room  showed  the  pres- 
ence of  careful  hands. 

Mrs.  Murphy  was  a  cheerful,  gentle  woman, 
so  short  in  stature  that,  when  tall  ruddy-cheeked 

106 


A    SPRIG    OF    SHAMROCK.  107 

Joe  stood  by  her,  her  head  barely  reached  the 
level  of  his  shoulders.  Time  and  trouble  had 
turned  her  hair  gray,  but  her  face  was  still  kind 
and  cheerful  in  expression ;  and  when  her  eyes 
rested  on  her  son,  the  proud  and  happy  light 
that  shone  there  was  a  sight  worth  seeing. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  prepare  breakfast.  It 
was  very  frugal  at  the  best  of  times,  and  this 
was  Lent. 

"Well,  mother,"  said  Joe,  taking  his  hat 
and  pushing  his  chair  back,  "  To-morrow  is  St. 
Patrick's  Day." 

"  Sure  I  couldn't  forget  that,  Joe.  See  how 
blooming  my  shamrock  is.  You'll  have  a  fine 
sprig  to  wear  in  your  coat  to-morrow." 

Joe  laughed  cheerily,  and,  walking  over  to 
the  window,  looked  admiringly  at  the  tuft  of 
shamrock  that  grew  in  a  very  red  flower-pot. 
Joe's  mother  had  brought  that  shamrock  from 
the  old  country. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Joe,  with  a  mysterious 
air,  "I'll  give  you  something  for  your  sprig  of 
shamrock,  mother." 

His  mother  looked  up  with  a  pleased  smile 
on  her  face. 

"Don't  ask  me  to  tell  you  beforehand.  I 
wouldn't  spoil  the  surprise  by  words." 


108  STORIES   AND   SKETCHES. 

"  I  can  wait,"  she  said,  knowing  that  Joe  was 
more  eager  to  speak  than  she  to  hear.  "It's 
nearly  half-past  seven,  and  you  should  be  at  the 
office  at  eight,  you  know.  I  hear  James 
Tyrrell  on  the  stairs." 

"  "Would  you  really  like  to  know  what  I'll 
give  you?" 

"I  am  not  impatient,  said  this  provoking 
mother.  "It's  time  you  were  off,  Joe." 

"  Well,  then,  it's  good  news,  mother." 

"  Good  news  will  keep,  Joe." 

"  Sure,  I  can't  keep  it,  then.  Mr.  Maher 
promised  yesterday  to  raise  my  wages.  Five 
dollars  a  week  after  to-morrow.  Hurrah ! " 
Joe  threw  up  his  cap,  and  performed  a  double- 
shuffle.  "  We'll  have  a  nice  carpet,  mother, 
and  you  shall  have  a  new  bonnet,  and  a  shawl, 
and  spectacles  with  gold  rims,  mother  —  yes, 
spectacles  with  gold  rims  !  Hurrah  !  " 

And,  having  unburdened  his  mind  of  the 
secret  that  tortured  him  since  the  previous 
evening,  he  hastened  away  to  his  daily  labor. 

"He  never  thinks  of  himself  at  all,  at  all," 
murmured  Mrs.  Murphy,  lifting  the  corner  of 
her  apron  to  wipe  away  a  tear. 

Mrs.  Murphy  had  endured  many  trials.  Her 
husband  and  three  children  had  died  in  Ire- 


A    SPRIG   OF   SHAMROCK.  109 

land.  Poor,  yet  hopeful,  she  and  her  son  had 
come  to  America.  Joe  was  employed  in  the 
law  office  of  Maher  &  Arnold,  lie  ran  errands, 
copied  documents,  and  performed  such  other 
duties  as  fell  to  his  share.  Mr.  Maher  held 
him  in  great  estimation.  Joe's  companion  in 
the  office  was  James  Tyrrell.  Tyrrell  was  fif- 
teen —  a  year  older  than  Joe.  During  the  hur- 
ried seasons  he  divided  Joe's  usual  labors,  but 
at  other  times  he  sat  at  a  high  desk,  in  an  up- 
right, elderly  way. 

James  Tyrrell  lived  in  the  same  house  with 
Joe.  A  distant  relative  of  his  —  an  old  woman 
who  kept  an  apple-stand  on  the  corner  —  rented 
rooms  immediately  above  those  occupied  by 
the  Murphy s. 

Tyrrell  never  of  late  arrived  at  the  office  in 
time,  and  when  he  did  come  he  was  generally 
half-asleep.  The  trouble  was,  he  had  become 
acquainted  with  "  a  jolly  set  of  fellows,  "  with 
whom  he  went  to  theatres,  or  roamed  about 
the  streets  at  night.  Mr.  Maher  had  not  of- 
fered to  raiso  his  salary ;  on  the  contrary,  he 
had  threatened  to  dismiss  him  if  he  did  not  be- 
come more  punctual.  He  envied  Joe,  but  he 
made  no  eifort  to  imitate  the  good  conduct  that 
made  the  latter  a  favorite  with  his  employer. 


110  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 


II. 


St.  Patrick's  Day,  Joe  Murphy  had  gone  to 
early  Mass ;  and  as  he  walked  briskly  up 
towards  the  office,  with  his  mother's  sprig  of 
shamrock  pinned  on  his  coat,  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  find  a  happier  boy  in  Philadel- 
phia. Five  dollars  a  week  !  The  prospect 
was  pleasant;  and  in  his  mind's-eye,  Joe 
already  saw  many  improvements  in  the  little 
room  at  home. 

Entering  the  office,  Joe  opened  the  shut- 
ters. After  a  while,  Tyrell  came  in  yawning. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Joe. 

"  Early  enough  to-day,  I  hope,  to  please  old 
Maher.  I  say,  what's  that  green  thing  you've 
got  in  in  your  button-hole,  Murphy?" 

"  Shamrock." 

"You're  a  green  'un,"  sneered  Tyrrell; 
' '  faith  I'd  not  be  letting  every  one  know  I  was 
Irish." 

"  More  shame  for  you,"  said  Joe,  gravely. 

At  this  moment  a  gray-haired,  kind-looking 
man  entered.  Tyrrell  at  once  rushed  to  his 
desk,  and  pretended  to  write  with  all  his  might. 


A    SPRIG    OF    SHAMROCK.  Ill 

Mr.  Maher  said  good  morning,  and  then  went 
into  his  private  office.  He  came  out  in  a  short 
time,  with  something  in  his  hand. 

"  You've  never  seen  anything  like  this,  have 
you,  boys."  From  a  dainty  cotton-lined  box  he 
took  a  watch  and  showed  it  to  the  boys.  They 
were  both  loud  in  their  expressions  of  admira- 
tion. The  watch  was  in  the  form  of  a  tiny  gold 
rose ;  each  petal  was  exquisitely  cut. 

While  Mr.  Maher  was  showing  the  watch  a 
loud  burst  of  music  sounded  without,  accom- 
panied by  applauding  voices. 

"  What  is  that?"  asked  Mr.  Maher. 

"The  procession.  St.  Patrick's  Day,  you 
know,  sir." 

"Oh,  yes."  Mr.  Maher  carefully  laid  the 
watch  within  Tyrrell's  desk  and  went  to  the 
door  ;  Tyrrell  and  Joe  followed  him.  Banners 
fluttered  in  the  sunlit  air,  horses  pranced,  men 
in  the  ranks  answered  the  cheers  of  those  on 
the  sidewalk,  and  the  inspiriting  melody  from 
the  various  bands  added  life  and  animation  to 
the  scene.  Mr.  Maher  and  Joe  stood  watching 
the  gay  pageant,  but  Tyrrell  stole  back  to  the 
desk,  opened  it,  took  something  out,  hesitated 
an  instant,  and  then  joined  the  other  two  at  the 
door.  He  took  his  stand  very  close  to  Joe. 


112  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

Neither  Mr.  Maher  nor  Joe  noticed  his  move- 
ment. 

' '  To  work,  hoys  !  to  work  ! "  said  Mr.  Maher, 
when  the  procession  had  passed.  "Why 
where's  the  watch  ?  " 

He  had  lifted  up  the  lid  of  Tyrrell's  desk. 
The  watch  was  gone. 

"Perhaps  you  dropped  it,  sir,  instead  of 
putting  it  into  the  desk,"  suggested  Tyrrell. 

Mr.  Maher  shook  his  head  negatively ;  they 
searched  for  it  on  the  floor,  however.  Again 
Mr.  Maher  went  to  the  desk.  He  examined  it 
minutely.  Between  the  desk  and  the  lid  lay  a 
sprig  of  shamrock,  as  if  it  had  been  accidentally 
caught  and  crushed  there. 

Mr.  Maher  glanced  at  Joe.  The  boy's  sham- 
rock had  disappeared  from  his  coat.  How  had 
it  got  into  Tyrrell's  desk  ?  A  troubled  expres- 
sion swept  across  Mr.  Maher's  face.  The  search 
was  renewed  in  vain. 

At  last  Mr.  Maher  said  :  "Now,  boys,  I  am 
sure  I  left  my  wife's  watch  in  the  desk.  While 
we  were  standing  in  the  doorway  no  one  en- 
tered, that  is  certain.  The  back  door  is  bolted, 
as  you  see  ;  but  the  watch  is  gone.  From  these 
facts,  what  is  your  conclusion?" 

"  That  one  of  us  took  the  watch,"  said  Tyr- 


A    SPRIG   OF    SHAMROCK,  113 

rell.  "  You  may  search  me,  sir."  He  hastily 
turned  his  pockets  inside  out.  Joe  plunged  his 
hands  into  his  pockets,  and  then  his  face  became 
very  red.  Tyrrell  had  been  watching  him.  He 
seized  Joe's  right  hand,  and  dragged  it  out. 
The  watch  was  in  it. 

"  Joe  Murphy's  the  thief! "  cried  Tyrrell. 

Joe  indignantly  protested  his  innocence.  Mr. 
Maher  listened  patiently  and  sorrowfully.  When 
Joe's  tears  entirely  choked  his  words,  Mr. 
Maher  spoke  : 

"  While  you  were  looking  at  the  watch  in 
niy  hand,  I  noticed  that  sprig  of  shamrock  on 
your  coat.  A  few  minutes  afterwards,  the 
shamrock  is  found  in  Tyrrell's  desk,  and  the 
watch  is  found  in  your  pockets.  Say  no  more  ; 
you  are  no  longer  in  my  employ." 

With  a  bursting  heart  and  a  throbbing  brain, 
Joe  walked  home.  In  an  hour  all  happiness 
had  flown.  The  streets  were  gay  with  flying 
flags  and  martial  music,  but  for  him  every- 
thing was  gloomy. 

His  mother  comforted  him.  She,  at  least, 
believed  him.  "  God  will  make  it  all  right," 
she  said. 


114  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

Two  months  had  passed.  The  Murphy s  are 
on  the  verge  of  starvation.  Joe,  with  his 
name  tarnished  by  the  suspicion  of  a  dishonest 
act,  has  been  unable  to  obtain  employment ; 
but,  in  spite  of  that,  he  has  plenty  of  work  on 
his  hands,  for  James  Tyrrell  is  lying  ill  with 
smallpox  in  the  close  room  at  the  top  of  the 
house.  The  old  apple  woman  deserted  him  at 
the  first  sign  of  the  disease. 

Had  not  Joe  Murphy  volunteered  to  min- 
ister to  him,  he  would  have  been  left  alone. 
A  few  moments  ago  the  doctor  told  Joe  to 
send  for  a  priest.  The  priest  came,  and,  after 
the  last  rites  were  administered,  called  Joe  and 
the  doctor  into  the  room. 

We  will  not  dwell  on  the  scene.  In  the 
presence  of  these  three  witnesses,  the  dying 
boy  confessed  that  he,  to  satisfy  his  hatred  and 
envy,  had  hidden  Mr.  Maher's  watch  in  Joe's 
pocket  on  St.  Patrick's  Day,  and  that  he  had 
taken  the  sprig  of  shamrock  and  placed  it  in 
the  desk,  in  order  more  plainly  to  fix  the  guilt 
on  Joe.  When  he  had  told  these  things,  James 
Tyrrell  died,  contrite  and  forgiven. 

Mr.  Maher  took  Joe  into  favor  again.  His 
wages  have  been  raised  several  times  since, 
and  Mrs.  Murphy  rejoices  in  the  new  shawl, 


A    SPEIG    OF    SHAMROCK. 


115 


bonnet,  and  gold-rimmed  spectacles  that  Joe 
promised  her.  But  Joe  never  sees  a  sprig  of 
shamrock  without  feeling  grateful  to  Him 
"  Who  made  it  all  right." 


A  GOOD  EXAMPLE.* 

TBANSLATED  FKOM  THE  FKENCH  OF  MADAME  GUIZOT 
DE  WILL. 


I  WAS  ill ;  I  could  not  leave  my  room,  and 
I  was  often  forced  to  spend  many  hours  on 
a  sofa.  "Winter  had  set  in,  and  my  windows 
looked  on  a  narrow,  gloomy  court,  behind  the 
high  walls  of  which  daylight  disappeared  early. 
I  could  not  read  all  day,  and  I  needed  some 
amusement,  as  those  whom  I  loved  were  called 
away  by  pressing  duties.  I  did  not  care  to 
spend  all  my  time  in  counting  the  flowers  on 
the  wall-paper,  or  in  tracing  the  design  of  the 
carpet,  and  so  I  had  my  sofa  placed  near  a 
window. 

"You  will  feel  the  draughts,"  somebody 
said,  although  this  was  plainly  impossible,  as 
the  smallest  cracks  were  closed  up.  "I  will 
see  all  that  goes  on  outside,"  I  answered. 

*  Slightly  altered. 
116 


A    GOOD    EXAMPLE.  117 

My  husband  laughed.  "You  will  see  ser- 
vants shaking  carpets,  and  maids  gossiping  in- 
stead of  minding  their  work."  It's  a  great  pity 
that  all  we  have  is  two  apartments  fronting  on 
the  street." 

"  Don't  be  discontented,"  I  said ;  "rooms  on 
the  street  are  dear,  and  I  intend  to  observe 
many  things  in  my  little  court.  This  evening 
I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  seen." 

Hardly  had  I  been  installed  on  my  sofa  near 
the  window,  when  I  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
delight.  Louise,  my  old  waiting-maid,  who 
had  known  me  all  my  life,  looked  up  in  astonish- 
ment. 

' '  I  see  children  down  on  the  first  floor  of  the 
opposite  house,  Louise.  I  am  sure  I'll  not 
want  for  amusement  now." 

She  smiled  sadly,  and  a  tender  remembrance 
made  my  heart  beat  quickly.  I  hid  my  face  in 
my  hands,  for  I  had  a  little  girl  once,  but  her 
Guardian  Angel  had  led  her  from  earth  into  the 
home  of  her  Heavenly  Father.  I  thought  of 
my  two  boys  at  school,  who  came  to  see  me  on 
Sunday,  every  two  weeks.  Sighing,  I  turned 
my  attention  to  the  children  in  the  window. 

At  first,  I  thought  the  elder  one  resembled 
my  dear  Maria,  for  she  had  golden  hair,  blue 


118  STOKIES   AND    SKETCHES. 

eyes,  a  fair  skin,  and  a  sad,  sweet  expression. 
Her  sister  was  much  darker  in  hair,  eyes,  and 
complexion,  and  very  lively  and  merry.  In 
her  arms  the  latter  held  a  pretty  little  white  cat. 

All  at  once  my  interest  became  centered  on 
this  cat.  The  children  brought  out  a  minia- 
ture table  and  an  arm-chair,  both  seeming  to 
be  part  of  the  furniture  of  a  doll's  house. 

The  table  was  adorned  by  a  cover  of  lace- 
bordered  muslin.  Having  placed  a  small  look- 
ing-glass, a  basin,  and  a  soap-dish  upon  it,  the 
yellow-haired  maiden  poured  out  some  water. 
I  watched  attentively  through  the  window- 
panes.  What  unfortunate  doll  was  about  to 
have  her  paint  destroyed  and  her  limbs  broken 
by  being  washed  in  a  basin  of  water? 

"  And  hot  water,  too  !  "  I  cried,  as  the  bru- 
nette appeared  with  a  tiny  kettle,  her  once 
white  apron  covered  with  charcoal.  The  two 
girls  approached  the  easy-chair,  and  placed 
some  object  in  it.  What  could  it  be  ?  A  small 
object  in  a  gray  morning  gown,  trimmed  with 
green  ribbons,  and  a  cape  on  its  shoulders  !  It 
was  certainly  not  a  doll,  for  it  moved  and 
turned  its  head. 

The  occupant  of  the  chair  was  the  white  cat ! 
It  maintained  its  seat  with  the  gravity  of  a 


A    GOOD    EXAMPLE.  119 

human  being  (and  with  more  than  the  gravity 
of  come  small  human  beings)  ;  and,  though  its 
dress  must  have  been  somewhat  uncomfortable, 
it  made  no  attempt  .to  scratch  its  little  mis- 
tress. One  of  them  plunged  its  front  paws 
into  the  basin.  The  water  was  too  hot,  and 
the  cat  withdrew  its  paws,  and  shook  them 
with  a  piteous  air.  When  the  girls  had  nearly 
smothered  it  with  consoling  caresses,  they 
tempered  the  heat  with  cold  water,  and  the 
ceremony  proceeded.  The  tiny  white  paws 
were  soaped,  sprinkled  with  cologne  and^ried ; 
but  at  this  interesting  moment  I  sunk  back 
fatigued  among  my  cushions,  and  so  the  toilet 
continued  without  me. 

"Do  you  know  who  those  children  are, 
Louise?" 

Louise,  bent  on  discovering  what  had  inter- 
ested me  so  strongly,  had  ceased  knitting,  to 
look  from  the  other  window. 

"That  cat  is  a  good  animal,"  she  remarked, 
before  answering  me.  "  Ten  tunes  at  least 
I  thought  the  beast  would  have  scratched  the 
little  stupids.  The  idea  of  washing  a  cat !  — 
and  cats  detest  water  on  their  feet !  Yes, 
madame,  they  are  children  of  a  man  employed 
in  a  government  office.  Their  mother  died 


120  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

last  year;  their  father  is  away  all  day,  and  so 
the  poor  little  ones  are  left  to  amuse  themselves 
as  they  can. 

"They  do  not  seem  very  melancholy,"  I 
thought,  turning  again  to  the  window,  but  the 
little  girls  had  gone.  The  cat  remained,  how- 
ever, still  tied  in  its  chair ;  its  head  rested  on 
its  breast,  and  it  was  sleeping  after  the  fatigues 
of  the  day. 

"Its  naughty  mistresses  must  have  forgotten 
it,"  I  thought. 

The  winter  wind  blew  roughly  against  the 
panes,  and  so  I  could  not  open  the  window,  to 
call  across  the  court.  I  took  up  my  book,  in 
order  to  profit  by  the  last  gleams  of  daylight. 
When  I  again  glanced  towards  their  side  of  the 
court,  Jibs  cat,  the  chair,  and  the  toilet-table 
were  no  longer  there.  I  recounted  to  my  hus- 
band the  discovery  I  had  made. 

"  Boilou  lives  over  there,"  he  said ;  "I  meet 
him  sometimes." 

"  Do  you  know  him?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

"  A  little  —  sufficiently  to  salute  him,  and 
even  to  say  a  few  words. 

"The  little  girls  have  no  mother,  and  I  have 
no  daughter,"  I  thought. 

"  When  you  meet  him  again,  tell  him  your 


A    GOOD    EXAMPLE.  121 

wife  is  sick,  and  that  by  sending  his  little  girls 
to  her,  sometimes,  he  will  perform  an  act  of 
true  charity." 

"  For  his  children  ;  I  don't  doubt  that,"  said 
my  husband,  laughing.  "  They'll  fatigue  you ; 
this  business  of  the  cat  makes  me  think  — " 

"That  they  can  amuse  themselves." 

Two  days  after  this  dialogue,  the  small 
maidens  entered  my  room  conducted  by  their 
nurse,  whom  I  sent  to  Louise  in  the  kitchen. 
My  two  little  friends  stood  timidly  at  the  foot 
of  my  sofa. 

A  near  view  of  them  convinced  me  that  my 
heart  had  caused  me  to  imagine  a  resemblance 
which  did  not  exist  between  my  little  Maria 
and  the  elder  mistress  of  the  white  cat.  Maria 
always  wore  an  air  of  grave  sadness,  as  if, 
young  as  she  was,  she  already  felt  the  weight 
of  life  ;  my  visitor  had  nothing  of  this.  She 
crossed  her  arms  on  her  breast  and  regarded 
me  with  a  fearless  glance.  I  caught  sight  of 
the  cat,  half-hidden  in  her  cloak.  I  held  out 
my  hands,  and  the  little  girls  began  to  laugh. 

"Theresa  wanted  to  bring  our  cat,"  said  the 
elder. 

"It  was  Genevieve,  who  feared  Faradet 
would  get  tired  all  by  himself,"  said  the  younger  ; 


122  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"  and,  then,  he  is  so  nice  that  we  thought  he 
would  amuse  you,"  they  both  chimed  in. 

The  pretty  animal  jondescended  to  roll  him- 
self up  in  my  cushion  and  to  fall  asleep,  just  as 
if  he  were  an  ordinary  cat.  His  mistresses 
found  seats  on  the  carpet  at  each  side  of  me. 

"We  didn't  bring  his  bed,"  said  Theresa, 
"  and  so  he  must  sleep  as  he  can.  At  home 
he  has  a  night-gown  for  cold  nights." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes,"  continued  Genevieve,  gravely ;  "he 
sleeps  in  our  doll's  bed,  but  he's  much  nicer 
than  a  doll ;  isn't  he  ?  We  put  him  to  bed  in 
the  evening,  like  a  little  baby,  with  a  tiny, 
tiny  jug  of  hot  water  at  his  feet,  so  that  they'll 
not  get  cold.  We  wanted  him  to  wear  a  night- 
cap, but  it  hurt  his  ears ;  they're  too  long." 
And  the  little  maid  softly  caressed  the  cat's 
head.  He  never  opened  his  eyes,  but  purred 
his  thanks. 

"  He  knows  me,"  she  continued,  "  he  knows 
where  we  are.  Sometimes  we  go  about  with 
papa's  old  dog  —  an  old,  old  dog,  who  is 
always  in  papa's  room,  under  the  bureau ;  but 
we  make  him  go  out  now  and  then,  when  Celes- 
tine  comes  to  shake  the  carpet." 

I  shuddered  —  good  house-wife  that  I  was  — 


A    GOOD    EXAMPLE  123 

at  the  thought  of  this  carpet  on  which  a  dog 
slept,  and  which  was  only  shaken  now  and 
then ;  but  the  little  babbler  went  on  :  "  Then 
Faradet  looks  for  us  everywhere.  He  doesn't 
like  to  be  alone  ;  he  moans,  he  calls  us,  and 
sometimes  he  cries  so  loudly  that  he  makes  our 
rat  afraid,  but  in  general  our  rat  loves  Faradet, 
who  never  tries  to  hurt  him." 

The  thought  of  such  a  menagerie  in  a  small 
room  overwhelmed  me  —  a  dog,  a  cat,  a  rat. 

' '  But  what  do  you  do  with  the  rat  ?  " 

"Oh,  he  is  sweet!  He's  a  white  rat  —  as 
white  as  Faradet.  They  gave  him  to  us  in  the 
country,"  said  Gene  vie  ve,  with  an  air  of  im- 
portance, "when  we  were  in  Normandy  last 
year.  Were  you  ever  in  Normandy?  It's 
very  pretty,  and  our  grandmother  lives  there  ; 
but  she  is  so  old  that  she  can't  keep  us  in  winter, 
because  we  make  too  much  noise  in  her  room." 

"Are  we  making  a  noise  now,  niadame?" 
asked  Theresa,  anxiously.  "Papa  said  you 
were  sick,  and  that  if  we  tired  you  we  should 
not  come  any  more." 

"  And  we  are  so  much  amused,"  cried  Gene- 
vieve,  embracing  me  energetically. 

The  cat  awakened ;  he  walked  around  the 
room  uneasily. 


124  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"He  knows  he  is  not  at  home,"  said  the 
girls,  following  him  in  order  to  tell  him  the 
names  of  the  various  articles  of  furniture  and 
the  subjects  of  the  pictures.  "That's  a  little 
girl  who  is  tired,"  said  Genevieve,  contemplat- 
ing the  Mignon  of  Amy  Sheifer.  "  She  has  no 
cat.  If  you  were  there,  my  Faradet" — and 
the  little  animal  rubbed  his  head  against  his 
mistress'  shoulder  — ' '  she  would  not  look  so 
unhappy." 

But  Faradet  wanted  to  reconnoitre  the  un- 
known territory  by  himself.  He  leaped  upon 
the  stand  and  placed  a  paw  on  a  wooden  ball  in 
my  work-basket.  "Faradet!"  said  Theresa, 
reproachfully.  The  cat  meowed  plaintively,  as 
if  in  protest,  but  withdrew  his  paw  and  de- 
scended gently. 

"You  see  how  good  he  is,  madame  !  "  ex- 
claimed his  delighted  mistress. 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  opened.  "  You 
must  come  now,  mademoiselles,"  said  Celestine  ; 
' '  monsieur  ordered  me  not  to  leave  you  long 
enough  to  fatigue  madame." 

"  Have  we  remained  too  long?"  The  two 
little  faces  were  turned  supplicatingly  towards 
me. 

Too  long !      I  looked  at  the  clock.      Two 


A    GOOD    EXAMPLE.  125 

hours  had  slipped  away  as  a  dream.  Mothers 
and  children  soon  understand  and  learn  to  love 
one  another. 

' '  I  will  be  greatly  obliged  to  you  if  you  will 
permit  them  to  come  back  to-morrow  —  their 
father  being  willing,"  I  said,  turning  to  the 
nurse,  "  and  not  to  disturb  you,  my  maid  will 
take  them  home,  so  that  it  will  not  be  neces- 
sary to  attend  them,  mademoiselle." 

Celestine's  bad  humor  vanished  ;  she  admitted 
that  it  might  be  possible  she  would  be  obliged 
to  perform  some  errands,  during  which  time 
she  would  leave  her  charges  in  my  care.  She 
courtesied,  and  took  the  hands  of  my  little 
friends. 

"  We  are  coming  again  to-morrow,"  they  said 
to  Faradet,  whom  they  had  great  trouble  to 
catch. 

"Do  you  want  us  to  bring  Raton? "cried 
Theresa,  as  the  bonne  shut  the  door. 

"  Xo,  no,"  I  returned  quickly.  I  liked  rats 
even  less  than  white  cats. 

From  that  day  I  had  two  girls  and  a  cat.  As 
soon  as  the  little  sisters  were  dressed,  they 
ran  to  the  window,  sometimes  before  I  had 
arisen,  and  they  would  find  my  sofa  unoccu- 
pied. Gene  vie  ve  mounted  a  chair,  and  en- 


126  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

deavored,  with  many  fruitless  efforts,  to  open 
the  window,  in  spite  of  Louise's  fears  of  a 
downfall.  "  They  both  ought  to  have  a  whip- 
ping," she  observed;  "the  cat  will  be  trying 
to  raise  the  window  next.  There  it  is,  open  at 
last." 

"Good  day!"  repeated  two  fresh  little 
voices,  "  good  day,  madame  !  "  Louise  had  half- 
opened  our  window  to  let  the  dust  out.  "Have 
you  slept  well  ?  Faradet  has  been  very  good  ! '' 
Louise  shut  the  window,  and  the  children  dis- 
appeared to  make  the  toilet  of  their  cat. 

"I  have  never  seen  such  an  animal,"  said 
Louise,  stopping  her  work  to  look  at  our 
neighbors ;  "he  is  seated  in  bed  with  his 
night-gown.  They  are  bringing  him  a  dish  on 
a  tray"  —and  my  old  attendant  shook  with 
laughter  — ' '  they  feed  him  with  a  spoon  and 
he  swallows  like  an  infant.  What  is  that  run- 
ning along  the  curtains  ?  Truly,  it  is  the  rat ; 
I  can't  tell  how  these  little  girls  keep  the 
beasts  from  eating  one  another.  But  I  am  los- 
ing time." 

Louise  managed  to  protract  the  arrangement 
of  my  room  very  greatly  since  the  discovery  of 
our  new  friends.  Each  day  they  made  me  an 
early  visit.  They  brought  their  books  and  I 


A    GOOD    EXAMPLE.  127 

commenced  to  give  them  lessons.  Genevieve 
could  read  a  little,  but  Theresa  hardly  spelled; 
they  wrote  a  page  or  two  ;  the  elder  made  o's, 
while  my  brunette  filled  her  fingers  with  ink- 
spots.  In  the  meantime  the  cat  slept  on  my 
knees,  happy  to  be  deli vered from  the  constraint 
imposed  by  his  civilized  habits,  as  his  furniture 
had  not  been  brought  into  my  room. 

"We  amuse  ourselves  well  enough  here," 
Genevieve  had  prudently  decided  ;  ' '  we  must 
keep  something  at  home." 

The  dog  Ravande  and  the  white  rat  had  not 
yet  been  admitted  to  the  honor  of  paying  me  a 
visit ;  but  the  most  perfect  harmony  always 
reigned  between  the  three  animals  and  their 
mistresses. 

"Raton  is  so  glad  when  we  return, "said  Ther- 
esa ;  he  climbs  upon  the  bars  of  his  cage,  and 
utters  cries  of  joy." 

I  asked  what  the  cries  of  joy  of  a  rat  were. 
Theresa  tried  to  imitate  them.  "That's  not 
them  at  all,"  said  Genevieve,  trying  in  her  turn, 
with  the  same  success  as  her  sister.  Where- 
upon they  both  rolled  on  the  floor  in  a  transport 
of  laughter,  and  they  were  obliged  to  give  up 
the  idea  of  making  me  comprehend  Raton's  ex- 
pressions of  joy. 


128  STOEIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"We  will  bring  him  and  you  will  see,"  they 
promised.  I  did  not  remind  them  of  their 
promise. 

I  began  to  grow  better.  I  was  soon  able  to 
leave  my  room.  I  had  decided  to  profit  by  my 
liberty,  in  order  to  see  Mr.  Boilou  and  advise 
him  to  discharge  Celestine,  who  neglected  his 
children  and  was  unfit  for  her  position.  Al- 
though they  were  much  neglected,  I  had  always 
admired  the  goodness  and  sweet  temper  of  my 
little  friends.  They  were  very  ignorant  for  their 
age,  were  sometimes  hoydenish  (with  my  sons) 
and  sometimes  troublesome  (with  my  Louise)  ; 
but  they  were  kind,  good-natured,  and  docile.  I 
was  not  astonished  at  the  peace  that  reigned 
among  their  three  favorites,  for  the  sisters 
never  quarrelled  themselves.  I  wanted  to  see 
my  two  boys  act  in  like  manner ;  but,  although 
they  loved  each  other  with  all  their  hearts,  they 
teased  and  provoked  each  other  from  morning 
to  night. 

On  Sunday,  while  awaiting  their  appearance, 
I  sent  for  my  two  little  girls.  "  Tell  them,"  I 
said  to  Louise,  "that  I  wish  them  to  bring 
Raton  and  Eavande." 

"And  the  cat?"  added  Louise,  who  had 
taken  Faradet  into  favor.  He  helped  her,  she 


A    GOOD    EXAMPLE.  129 

avowed,  to  count  her  linen  by  placing  its  little 
white  paw  on  each  napkin  that  she  added  to  the 
pile.  When  I  happened  to  find  the  dusky  mark 
of  a  paw  on  my  table  linen,  Louise  insisted 
that  it  was  the  fault  of  the  washerwoman. 

"And  Faradet?"  she  repeated,  "  Faradet 
conies,  of  course." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  my  chamber  was 
transformed  into  a  menagerie.  In  entering, 
my  two  boys  jostled  the  dog  who  lay  extended 
before  the  door,  and  Eoger  knocked  against 
Eaton's  cage  ;  the  poor  little  animal,  frightened 
by  the  shock,  took  refuge  in  her  bed  of  hay. 
His  little  mistresses  had  retired  to  a  corner, 
carrying  Faradet. 

I  had  some  trouble  silencing  the  low  growls 
of  the  old  dog  and  the  meowing  of  the  cat; 
peace,  however,  was  at  last  established.  My 
sons  returned  to  their  old  employment  of  teas- 
ing each  other,  while  the  girls  played  with 
their  animals  at  the  end  of  the  room.  The  rat 
had  come  from  his  hiding  place  to  climb  up  the 
bars  of  the  cage.  Faradet,  standing  on  his  hind 
legs  before  the  cage,  made  slight  strokes  at  the 
white  claws  of  the  rat,  who  began  his  cries  of 
joy,  as  the  girls  called  them. 

"  Do  you  hear  him,  madame  ?  "  said  Theresa, 


130  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

triumphantly.  "That  doesn't  sound  like  the 
noise  Gene  vie  ve  made,  does  it?" 

"  Nor  is  it  like  what  you  made,"  laughed  the 
other. 

Theresa  agreed  that  it  was  not,  and  they 
called  Ravande,  who  was  cosily  stretched  at 
full  length.  Faradet  was  running  hither  and 
thither ;  he  shook  Raton's  cage  in  passing,  and 
gave  the  dog  a  box  on  the  ear  ;  the  latter  raised 
his  head  good-naturedly.  My  son  Henri  was 
seated  on  the  floor  near  my  sofa. '  I  placed  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"These  children  and  animals  can  live  to- 
gether without  quarrelling,"  I  said  in  a  low 
tone  ;  ' '  why  cannot  my  sons  do  as  much  ?  " 

Roger  overheard  me.  He  shook  his  head 
like  Ravande. 

"  Little  girls,"  he  said  disdainfully. 

"Animals, "added  Henri ;  but  his  eyes  did  not 
leave  the  happy  little  group  in  the  corner  of  the 
room,  and  in  the  evening  he  embraced  me  before 
departing  for  college  and  murmured  in  my  ear  : 

"  I  will  try  to  become  less  quarrelsome,  dear 
mother ;  we  can  live  together  as  well  as  a  cat 
and  a  rat." 

I  smiled.  He  had  understood  the  example  I 
had  wished  to  show  him. 


A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 


THERE  were  three  in  the  O'Meara  family, 
Thomas,  his  wife,  and  little  Nora.  Little 
Nora  was  seven  years  old. 

The  O'Mearas  were  poor,  and  one  of  them 
was  not  contented.  This  was  the  husband  and 
father.  He  had  become  careless  of  late,  and 
he  did  not  attend  to  his  religious  duties  as  he 
had  formerly  done. 

The  morning  sunlight,  shooting  its  golden 
arrows  into  the  O'Mearas'  little  room,  saw  a 
very  pretty  picture. 

Little  Nora  sat  by  her  mother's  side,  repeat- 
ing the  following  hymn  : 

"  Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning, 

Dawn  on  our  darkness  and  lend  us  thine  aid; 
Star  of  the  East,  the  horizon  adorning, 

Guide  where  Our  Infant  Redeemer  is  laid," 

"  I  forget  the  rest,  dear  mother,"  said  little 

131 


132  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

Nora.    It  has  something  sweet  in  it  about  dew- 
drops.     Please  say  it  again." 
And  Nora's  mother  began  : 

"  Cold  on  His  cradle  the  dewdrops  are  shining, 
Low  lies  His  head  with  the  beasts  of  the  stall  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  remember  now,"  cried  Nora,  eagerly 

continuing : 

"  Angels  adore  Him,  in  slumber  reclining, 
Maker,  and  Monarch,  and  Saviour  of  all." 

They  were  proceeding  to  the  second  stanza, 
when  Thomas  O'Meara  entered. 

"  Sure,  and  what's  the  use  of  learning  the 
child  that?"  he  said.  "She'd  better  be  learn- 
ing her  A  B  C's.  Go  and  get  your  primer, 
Nora,  and  leave  hymns  to  ould  women  and 
them  that  likes  them." 

"  I  like  them,  father, "said  Nora,  raising  her 
eyes  imploringly. 

"Do  as  I  bid  you." 

And  Nora,  obeyed,  dampening  the  well- 
thumbed  primer  with  her  tears. 

Thomas  O'Meara  shortly  afterward  was  dis- 
charged by  his  employer,  and  he  resolved  to 
leave  Ireland  and  go  to  America. 

He  had  but  little  money,  and  he  intended 
to  let  his  wife  and  child  remain  in  the  old 


A    CHRISTMAS    HYMN.  133 

country  until  he  could  earn  sufficient  to  pay 
their  passage  to  the  New  "World. 

Well,  he  started,  and  Xora  wept  more  tears 
at  his  departure  than  she  did  about  the  hymn. 

Three  months  passed,  and  one  joyful  day 
Mrs.  O'Meara  received  a  letter  from  her  hus- 
band, inclosing  a  sum  of  money,  and  telling 
her  to  come  at  once  to  him. 

As  soon  as  possible,  Nora  and  her  mother 
were  on  shipboard,  speeding  over  the  ocean. 
The  steamer  that  carried  them  made  a  quicker 
trip  than  usual.  They  arrived  two  days  before 
they  were  expected. 

Thomas  O'Meara  had  promised  to  meet  them 
at  the  landing-place,  but  he  was  not  there. 

Anxiously  Mrs.  O'Meara  scanned  every  face 
on  the  wharf — that  familiar  one  was  absent. 

Sick  at  heart,  she  stood,  with  Nora  by  her 
side,  waiting  for  his  coming.  Every  new- 
comer she  fancied  to  be  him,  and  then  with 
painful  disappointment  saw  that  it  was  not  he 
—  the  expected  one. 

As  night  fell  she  took  refuge  in  a  hotel.  Her 
husband  had  forgotten  to  send  her  any  ad- 
dress, but  she  knew  he  worked  on  a  farm  ;  so 
the  next  morning  she  left  the  city,  and  went 
out  into  the  open  country.  She  would  inquire 


134  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

for  Thomas  O'Meara  at  the  different  farm- 
houses. Surely  the  people  would  know  him. 
Alas  !  she  did  not  know  what  a  large  place 
America  is. 

Her  efforts  were  vain.  No  one  knew  him. 
It  was  bitter  cold  —  Christmas  was  near  —  and 
Jack  Frost  pinched  poor  little  Nora's  cheeks 
purple,  and  almost  froze  the  tears  in  her  blue 
eyes. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  day  the  snow  began 
to  fall,  and  the  mother  and  daughter  found 
shelter  in  a  deserted  tumble -down  old  barn. 
Grief  and  anxiety  had  done  their  work.  Mrs. 
O'Meara  fell  sick  with  fever.  She  grew  worse, 
finally  becoming  delirious. 

There  was  no  house  in  sight.  Little  Nora 
was  alone  with  her  suffering  mother.  It  was 
two  days  since  they  entered  the  barn,  and 
during  that  time  they  had  eaten  no  food. 

Poor  little  Nora  was  growing  very  weak.  She 
pressed  her  lips  to  her  unconscious  mother's  hot 
brow.  It  was  a  sad  Christmas  Eve. 

" Poor,  dear  mother,"  she  thought,  "father 
would  let  me  sing  my  hymn  now,  to  cheer  her 
up,  I  know." 

She  began  the  hymn  in  her  shrill,  childish 
voice. 


A    CHRISTMAS    HYMN.  135 

Out  on  the  lonely  road  sounded  the  merry 
jingle  of  sleigh-bells.  Two  persons  were  in  the 
sleigh  —  the  driver  and  another.  The  moon 
shone  coldly  bright  on  the  far-reaching  expanse 
of  snow. 

' '  Hark  !  "  said  the  driver  —  it  was  Thomas 
O'Meara,  and  the  man  by  his  side  was  his  em- 
ployer. "  Do  you  not  hear  a  sound,  sir?  " 

"The  wind?" 

"  Sure  there's  no  wind  at  all,  at  all.  Listen  ! 
D'ye  hear  that?"  O'Meara  reined  in  the  horses. 

Through  the  deep  stillness  of  the  night  came 
the  child's  faltering  voice,  singing:  — 

"  Cold  on  His  cradle,  the  dewdrops  are  shining; 

Low  lies  His  head  with  the  beasts  of  the  stall; 
Angels  adore  Him,  in  slumber  reclining 
Maker,  and  Monarch,  and  Saviour  of  all." 

"That's  the  voice  of  an  angel,  or  of  my  own 
little  Nora  1 "  cried  O'Meara. 

"The  voice  comes  from  yonder  barn,"  said 
his  employer. 

Thomas  O'Meara  entered  the  barn,  and  found 
his  wife  and  child.  They  were  wrapped  up 
warmly,  placed  in  the  sleigh,  and  taken  to  the 
kind  employer's  home. 

Mrs.   O'Meara   soon   recovered,  and  Nora's 


136  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

cheeks  soon  grew  red  again.  The  steamer  had 
arrived  two  days  before  Thomas  O'Meara 
reached  the  city,  to  meet  his  wife  and  Nora. 
He  was  almost  frantic  at  having  missed  them. 
He  made  a  vow  if  he  ever  should  regain  his  loved 
ones,  he  would  never  more  be  careless  about  his 
religious  duties. 

He  kept  that  vow.  He  is  prosperous  and 
happy;  and  on  each  Christmas  Eve,  he  joins 
with  grateful  heart  in  singing  the  hymn  which 
he  once  thought  was  useless  for  Nora  to  learn. 


A  JUNE  DAY. 


/T""*HE  spot  in  the  garden  which  Jennie  and 
Eddie  Garland  chose  for  their  play-ground 
was  very  pretty.  It  was  not  far  from  their 
father's  house,  the  roofs  of  which  could  be  seen 
above  the  trees.  Here  was  an  open  place, 
where  the  grass  was  kept  short  by  the  constant 
tread  of  their  little  feet.  Here  were  their  little 
gardens  and  a  tent,  over  which  was  unfurled  a 
tiny  red,  white  and  blue  flag. 

Their  toys  were  kept  in  the  tent,  and  during 
the  long,  bright  days  there  were  no  happier 
children  in  the  country  than  these  two.  Jen- 
nie was  eight  years  old  and  Eddy  was  four. 
Jap  was  their  little  dog.  Nobody  seemed  to 
know  how  old  he  was.  He  looked  to  be  at 
least  a  hundred,  although  he  could  not  have 
been  so  old  as  that.  He  followed  the  children 
everywhere,  and  seemed  to  understand  what 
they  said,  not  only  to  him,  but  to  each  other. 

One  bright  sweet-scented  day  in  June,  the 
137 


138  STORIES   AND    SKETCHES. 

children's  mother  gave  them  permission  to  go 
into  the  big  garden,  which  was  a  tangled  mass 
of  roses,  magnolias,  honeysuckle  and  sweet- 
williams.  The  children  were  not  usually  per- 
mitted to  go  into  this  garden,  but  on  this  day 
their  mother  said  that  they  might  go  and 
gather  as  many  flowers  as  they  liked,  because 
it  was  the  eve  of  Corpus  Christi. 

"  And  children,"  she  said,  "  I  want  you  to 
get  the  prettiest  red  and  white  roses  you  can 
find  for  Our  Blessed  Lord  to-morrow." 

' '  May  we  really  pick  them  where  we  like  ?  " 
asked  Eddie. 

"Yes,  dear,"  said  his  mother,  smiling  the 
kind  smile  that  mothers  smile  for  little  boys ; 
"  but  don't  pick  such  very  short  stems." 

"No,  mother,"  answered  Eddie. 

The  children  went  into  the  grounds,  hand  in 
hand.  When  they  came  to  their  tent,  they 
thought  that  they  would  rest  awhile  before  be- 
ginning to  fill  their  baskets  with  roses.  Jennie 
took  some  of  her  toys  from  the  tent,  and  the 
children  soon  drowned  the  hum  of  the  bees, 
who  had  a  nice  hive  near,  with  their  laughter 
and  shouts. 

Suddenly  Jennie  "screeched,"  as  Eddie  ex- 
pressed it. 


A    JUNE    DAY  139 


"  Oh,  dear,"  she  said,  "  there's  a  bee  in  my 
stocking !  " 

"Take  it  off  quick!" 

"  Oh,  Eddie,  it  will  bite  me  !  " 

"Bees  don't  bite;  they  sting,"  said  Eddie, 
proudly. 

Jennie  "screeched,"  and,  as  her  stocking 
was  hanging  over  her  shoe  —  for  Jennie  was 
not  the  tidiest  girl  in  the  world  —  it  was  easily 
pulled  off.  The  question  now  arose,  how  was 
Sir  Gold  Belt  to  be  enticed  out  of  the  stocking  ? 

Eddie  was  in  favor  of  treading  on  the  stock- 
ing and  killing  the  bee ;  but  Jennie  said  it 
would  be  wrong  to  kill  a  bee. 

"It  works  hard  and  makes  honey,  you 
know." 

"  But  it  might  sting  somebody  else." 

"  It  may  help  to  make  honey  for  our  bread 
and  butter." 

"  So  it  might,"  said  Eddie,  moved  by  this 
suggestion. 

Jennie  shook  her  stocking  violently,  threw 
it  on  the  ground  and  ran  under  the  cedar  tree, 
Eddie  taking  refuge  in  the  tent.  But  no  bee 
buzzed  from  the  stocking. 

"  I  tell  you,"  the  bee  won't  come  out  of  the 
top  of  the  stocking,  because  it  is  afraid  of  us ; 


140  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

I'll  cut  a  hole  in  the  heel  of  the  stocking,  and 
then  the  bee  will  drop  out." 

The  stocking  was  laid  on  the  ground,  and 
Eddie,  taking  his  little  pen-knife  from  his 
pocket,  cut  a  hole  in  the  heel  of  the  stocking. 
Breathlessly  Jennie  shook  the  stocking.  Eddie 
and  Jap  watched  anxiously  for  the  bee  to  ap- 
pear. But  no  bee  came. 

"  I  don't  see  it,"  said  Jennie. 

"I  don't,  either,"  said  Eddie. 

Jap  barked,  to  show  that  he  agreed  with 
them. 

' '  Here  it  comes  !  here  it  comes  !  "  cried 
Eddie. 

Jennie  dropped  the  stocking,  and  there  fell 
upon  the  grass  a  dried  clover-top.  This  was 
the  bee  ! 

Jap  turned  it  over  with  his  nose,  with  a  look 
of  contempt.  Eddie  laughed,  and  Jennie  began 
to  cry.  It  was  too  bad  to  have  cut  a  hole  in 
her  stocking  and  to  have  found  no  bee.  What 
would  mamma  say? 

"  You  told  me  to  do  it,  Eddie,"  she  said. 
' '  I  think  it  was  real  mean  ?  " 

"Well,  why  did  you  'screech,'  anyhow?" 
asked  Eddie,  in  an  injured  tone.  "I  didn't 
say  there  was  a  bee  1 " 


A    JUNE    DAY.  141 


"  You  did  ! "  said  Jennie.  "  You  said  it  was 
a  bee ! " 

"  That's  a  story  !  "  cried  Eddie.  "  You  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

' '  I'm  ashamed  of  you  !  " 

Eddie  began  to  cry,  too,  and  Jap  to  yelp  in 
sympathy.  The  children  were  very  angry  with 
each  other.  They  picked  up  their  baskets  and 
went  into  the  tangled  garden. 

The  fragrance  of  the  honeysuckle  and  the 
roses  surrounded  them.  Above  was  the  deep 
blue  sky,  and  all  around  the  sunlit  air.  Climb- 
ing, but  scentless  roses,  wreathed  the  trunks  of 
old  trees  and  summer-house.  Bushes  bearing 
sweet,  rich  red  roses  stood  everywhere  ;  above 
them  towered  white  roses,  and  here  and  there 
a  yellow  rose  lifted  its  face  to  the  sun.  The 
lilac-bushes  had  lost  their  delicious  burdens ; 
but  the  scent  of  the  honeysuckle  more  than 
made  up  for  the  loss  of  the  fragrance  of  the 
purple  and  white  lilacs. 

In  one  place  a  red  rose-bush,  covered  with 
magnificent  flowers,  whose  golden  hearts  shone 
among  the  unfolded  petals,  had  become  en- 
twined with  a  white  rose-bush,  whose  flowers, 
half-opened,  seemed  without  a  spot. 

Jennie  stretched  out  her  hand  to  take  one  of 


142  STORIES  AND  SKETCHES. 

the  white  roses,  uttering  an  exclamation  of 
pleasure. 

"You  rnustn  t  ao  that !  "  said  Eddie. 

"  Why  not?"  asked  Jennie. 

' '  Because  mamma  said  it  was  no  use  pluck- 
ing roses  for  the  altar  and  offering  them  to 
Our  Dear  Lord,  if  we  had  bad  thoughts  in  our 
hearts.  Mamma  said  that  the  child  Jesus 
wants  our  hearts  first,  and  after  that,  the  flow- 
ers. You  mustn't  offer  Him  white  roses  when 
you  are  angry  with  me  !  " 

Jennie  tore  the  rose  from  the  bush  and  threw 
it  on  the  ground.  "  You're  a  mean  boy, 
Eddie  ! " 

Eddie  picked  up  the  rose.  "Mamma  said 
that  the  white  roses  meant  the  Immaculate 
Heart  of  the  Blessed  Mother  and  the  red  ones 
the  Heart  of  Our  Lord.  You  ought  not  to 
treat  them  so  !  " 

An  angry  flash  came  into  Jennie's  eyes,  and 
she  raised  her  hand  as  if  to  hit  her  little 
brother.  It  was  hard  to  be  reproved  by  Mm. 

Then  her  Guardian  Angel  whispered  in  her 
ear.  She  kissed  the  torn  rose  and  Eddie, 
and  her  tears  glistened  like  dew-drops  in  the 
white  petals. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  offended  the  dear  Child 


A   JUNE    DAY. 


143 


Jesus  and  His  Blessed  Mother."     She  made  an 
Act  of  Contrition. 

After  this  the  day  went  happily,  and  their 
mother  smiled  and  kissed  them  when  they 
came  home  at  dinner-time,  loaded  with  the 
rarest  roses  in  the  garden  —  all  with 
stems  !  " 


long 


WILDE   BY  NAME  AND   WILD   BY 
NATURE. 


AUNT  MARTHA  was  very  strict— very 
strict.  It  must  be  said,  though,  that  she 
had  reason  to  be,  for  Kitty  Wilde,  her  niece,' 
was,  as  all  the  neighbors  said,  "Wilde  by  name 
and  wild  by  nature."  She  was  an  orphan,  and 
she  had  been  taken  by  Aunt  Martha  when  she 
was  very  young.  Aunt  Martha  was  not  really 
her  aunt.  She  was  a  "lone  woman,"  whose 
son  had  gone  West  long  ago,  and  sometimes 
she  said  to  the  neighbors  that  "  she  didn't 
know  what  had  possessed  her  to  take  Kitty 
Wilde."  Kitty  was  sometimes  very  trying  to 
Aunt  Martha. 

Anybody's  nerves  would  be  shocked  by  the 
sight  of  Kitty  clinging  to  Brindle's  horns  riding 
around  the  East  Meadow.  Brindle  was  one  of 
Aunt  Martha's  three  cows.  This  was  one  of 
Kitty's  amusements.  She  was  always  very 

144 


WILDE  BY  NAME  AND  WILD  BY  NATURE.  145 

sorry,  after  she  had  been  told  how  dangerous 
and  annoying  it  was,  but  the  next  day  she 
generally  forgot  her  sorrow,  and  rode  Brindle 
again. 

Aunt  Martha  generally  had  "  company"  on 
Friday  nights,  because  the  sweeping,  the  wash- 
ing and  the  baking  were  over.  The  ' '  company  " 
generally  was  three  old  ladies  from  West  Hamp- 
ton, the  town  about  three  miles  away.  They 
were  very  stiff,  prim  old  ladies,  and  they  al- 
ways drove  over  in  an  ancient  carriage — a 
"  Germantown,"  they  called  it.  Suddenly, 
while  they  and  Aunt  Martha  were  drinking  tea, 
and  exchanging  cooking  receipts  and  the  news 
of  the  neighborhood,  a  wild  howl  would  sound 
without,  and  when  the  four  frightened  old  ladies 
would  hasten  to  the  door,  they  would  see  the 
"  Germantown"  dashing  down  the  road,  driven 
by  Kitty  at  a  break-neck  pace.  This  was  not 
pleasant,  and  took  away  the  old  ladies'  appe- 
tites for  Aunt  Martha's  nice  tea-cakes. 

Several  times  when  Aunt  Martha  had  sent 
Kitty,  with  her  pitcher,  to  the  spring  behind 
the  house,  where  all  day  long  in  the  hottest  sum- 
mer, the  coldest  water  bubbled  up,  she  had  been 
found  idly  ga/ing  into  the  brook,  trying  wreaths 
of  daisies  on  her  head  or  making  paper-boats  ! 


146  STOEIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

Was  it  strange  that  Aunt  Martha  declared, 
over  and  over  again ,  that  she  would  go  mad  ? 
The  neighbors  declared  ' '  they  didn't  see  how 
she  stood  it." 

It  was  agreed  everywhere  that  Kitty  was 
good-hearted ;  she  never  refused  to  do  an  act 
of  kindness.  Farmer  Birch,  the  richest  man  in 
the  neighborhood,  had  been  so  grateful  to  her 
for  her  kindness  to  his  little  son,  who  had  been 
hurt  by  a  reaping  machine,  that  he  told  her  she 
might  have  the  whole  produce  of  his  big  ox- 
heart  cherry-tree  for  the  gathering. 

Kitty  picked  the  cherries  every  summer,  and 
sold  them  to  a  dealer  in  West  Hampton.  Aunt 
Martha  would  never  touch  the  "  cherry 
money."  Kitty  carried  it  to  the  bank  every 
year.  It  was  something  for  a  "  rainy  day." 

Aunt  Martha  loved  Kitty  very  much,  and 
Kitty  returned  the  love  with  interest.  She 
worked  with  energy  in  fits  and  starts.  And 
she  could  work,  when  she  wanted  to  ;  but  she 
did  not  always  want  to. 

Aunt  Martha  would  have  stood  everything, 
except  for  Kitty's  dislike  to  "  meeting."  Aunt 
Martha  was  a  Methodist,  and  she  wanted  Kitty 
to  be  a  Methodist. 

Twice  Kitty  went  to  meeting.    After  that,  she 


WILDE  BY  NAME  AND  WILD  BY  NATURE.  147 

would  not  go  again.  She  said  the  preaching 
and  the  shouting  frightened  her. 

"  Shouting  !  "  cried  Aunt  Martha  indignantly. 
"  You  shout  from  morning  until  night,  and  you 
don't  seem  to  care.  You  wicked,  wicked  child  ! 
I  don't  know  where  you  are  going  when  you 
die  !  " 

"I  can't  help  it,  Aunt  Martha,"  said  Kitty, 
tying  a  new  ribbon  around  the  cat's  neck ; 
"your  hymns  are  so  sorrowful  and  everybody 
is  so  grim,  that  I  wouldn't  be  a  Methodist.  It's 
not  what  /  call  religion." 

"  Sister  Briggs,  do  you  hear  the  child  ?  "  cried 
Aunt  Martha,  turning  to  the  "company" 
seated  at  the  tea-table.  "  Give  me  my  cap- 
ribbon  this  instant !  How  can  you  put  it  on  that 
nasty  cat  ?  It  cost  two  fips  a  yard  !  —  Do  you 
hear  her?  How  can  she  expect  a  change  of 
heart?" 

Sister  Briggs  shook  her  head,  swallowed 
her  tea  and  sang  in  doleful  tones  :  — 

"  There  was  a  girl  whom  I  know  well, 

She  went  unto  a  ball, 
Full  knowing  'twas  the  road  to  Hell, — 
Oh,  it  was  awful, 
Awful,  Awful, 
Oh,  it  was  awful, 
A  — a  — a— full" 


148  STORIES    AND   SKETCHES. 

Kitty  ran  away  before  the  pious  Mrs.  Briggs 
could  finish  a  doleful  ditty  very  fashionable 
among  the  Methodists  of  the  neighborhood. 

The  four  old  ladies  shook  their  heads. 

' '  I  don't  see  whatever  possessed  you  to  take 
Kitty  Wilde,"  said  Mrs.  Briggs,  "  she's  a  bold, 
good-for-nothing  —  " 

Aunt  Martha  straightened  herself  up  and 
peered  at  Mrs.  Briggs  through  her  spectacles. 

"I  am  able  to  attend  to  my  own  business, 
Sister  Briggs." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  said  Sister  Briggs.  "I 
thought  you  were  too  much  of  a  Christian  to 
take  offence  when  a  neighbor  gives  a  word 
of  advice.  But  I  guess,  if  you  saw  your  Kitty 
tearing  around  the  country  with  the  Irish  chil- 
dren back  of  the  hill,  you  wouldn't  be  so 
touchy.  Them  Irish  will  make  a  Jesuit  of  her, 
if  you  don't  be  careful." 

Aunt  Martha  put  down  her  tea-cup. 

' '  Law  sakes  ! "  the  other  members  of  the 
company  exclaimed. 

"  You're  not  in  earnest,  Sister  Briggs?  You 
don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  Kitty  associates 
with  that  Irish  family  ?  " 

"I  saw  her  with  these  eyes  picking  black- 
berries with  Rose  and  Anna  O'Rafferty  to-day." 


WILDE  BY  NAME  AND  WILD  BY  NATURE.    149 


Aunt  Martha  was  silent.  This  was  a  heavy 
blow. 

The  country  around  East  Hampton  was 
peopled  almost  exclusively  by  "natives," 
whose  great-grandfathers  had  come  mostly 
from  the  North  of  England.  A  colony  of 
Irish  people  had  lately  settled  among  them, 
who,  though  very  poor,  had  managed  to  build 
a  chapel,  in  which  a  priest  said  Mass  twice  a 
month.  Rose  and  Anna  O'RafFerty  were  of  this 
colony.  Their  father  was  a  hard-working  car- 
penter, and  an  admirable  man,  quite  as  well 
educated  as  the  people  among  whom  his  lot 
had  been  cast.  Nevertheless,  he  was  looked 
down  upon  by  his  neighbors ;  and  Rose  and 
Anna  were  considered  by  the  other  girls  as 
"Irish."  In  East  Hampton  this  word  meant 
everything  that  was  low  and  coarse. 

It  was  a  blow,  then,  for  Aunt  Martha  to  hear 
that  Kitty  Wilde  had  ' '  made  friends "  with 
the  O'Rafferty  girls.  She  had  nothing  to  say 
against  them  ;  but  they  were  "  Irish." 

She  was  about  to  open  her  mouth  to  reply 
to  the  last  remark,  when  a  scream  rang  through 
the  air  and  caused  the  old  ladies  to  jump  from 
the  table  in  terror. 

Before  they  could  leave  the  table,  the  door 


150  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

of  the  room  was  thrown  open  and  Kitty  en- 
tered, followed  by  two  dripping  figures.  One 
was  Rose  O'Raflerty,  her  frock  tightly  clinging 
to  her,  and  the  water  from  it  trickling  in  little 
streams.  She  led  a  boy  named  Willie  New- 
comb  by  the  hand.  He  was  a  pitiable  object. 
His  hair  was  matted  with  mud,  which  had  run 
into  his  eyes,  and  from  thence  been  smeared 
over  his  face.  His  clothes  were  literally 
"soaked." 

Willie  Newcomb  was  Mrs.  Brigg's  grandson, 
and  the  apple  of  her  eye.  She  seemed  too 
amazed  to  speak.  Kitty  burst  out : 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Martha,  Willie  called  Rose  ugly 
names,  and  said  he  wouldn't  play  with  her,  and 
I  got  mad,  and  I  chased  him,  and  he  lost  his 
balance  and  fell  into  the  creek.  /  thought  he 
was  going  to  drown,  when  Rose  jumped  in 
after  him.  She  can  swim  a  little,  you  know, 
and  just  as  I  thought  they  were  both  dead,  she 
caught  a  branch  and  pulled  him  out.  O,  dear, 
it  was  awful !  The  nasty,  disagreeable  boy  !  " 

All  this  was  delivered  so  rapidly  that  Aunt 
Martha  made  Kitty  say  it  over  again. 

"I  wouldn't  have  saved  him,  that's  all,"  she 
added.  "  Why,  he  said  his  grandmother 
Briggs  said  Rose  worshipped  idols." 


WILDE  BY  NAME  AND  WILD  BY  NATURE.    151 

Mrs.  Briggs  looked  very  much  ashamed ; 
but  everybody  else  pretended  not  to  notice 
this  remark. 

Willie  was  put  to  bed  at  once,  and  Rose 
safely  ensconced  in  Kitty's  room,  much  to  the 
latter's  delight. 

When  quiet  was  restored,  Aunt  Martha  and 
her  friends  resumed  their  meal.  Her  brow 
was  wrinkled,  and  she  looked  anxious. 

' '  I  am  shocked  by  Kitty's  unchristian  senti- 
ments towards  poor  Willie.  She  actually  de- 
clares she  would  have  let  him  drown.  When 
I  asked  Rose,  who  seems  to  be  a  sweet  child, 
why  she  risked  her  life,  she  said :  '  Oh,  our 
Lord  wants  us  to  do  good  to  them  that  injure 
us.'" 

"And  she  a  Romanist !"  cried  the  old  ladies. 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Mrs.  Briggs,  "I'll 
never  say  anything  against  'em  again  !  " 

Aunt  Martha  was  so  much  impressed  by 
Rose's  action  that  she  let  Kitty  go  to  Mass  and 
the  Catechism  class  with  her,  and  people  say 
that  Aunt  Martha  herself  has  a  "  leaning 
towards  Rome." 


THE    BOY   WHO   WANTED   TO 
BE   OLD. 


WALTER  went  into  the  library  one  day, 
and  found  it  empty.  His  grandfather's 
big  chair,  with  several  books  on  it,  stood  near 
the  table.  Walter  lifted  off  some  of  the  books 
and  climbed  into  the  chair.  Then  he  took  his 
grandfather's  long  Dutch  pipe  and  began  to 
read.  I  mean  to  pretend  to  read,  for  Walter 
could  not  read.  He  did  not  touch  the  pen  or 
ink,  for  Walter  was  an  obedient  boy.  He  took 
the  end  of  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  very  soon, 
for  he  found  "  it  tasted  nasty." 

After  awhile,  Walter  dropped  asleep,  and 
his  grandfather  coming  in,  awakened  him. 

"Oh,  grandfather,"  he  said,  "I  dreamed 
that  I  was  you.  How  nice  it  must  be,  to  be 
you !  You  can  read  every  word  in  this  big 
book  and  do  as  you  please  ! " 

' '  I  don't  often  read  Burton's  '  Anatomy  of 
Melancholy, 'and when  I  do,  I  have  to  use  spec- 

152 


THE    BOY    WHO    WANTED    TO    BE    OLD.      153 

tacles.  Now,  you  can  see  everything  without 
spectacles.  See  what  an  advantage  you  have." 

"  Oh,  but,  grandpapa,  you  can  do  anything 
you  please.  You  can  ride  a  pony." 

"  No,"  said  grandfather,  smiling,  "I  can't;  I 
have  the  rheumatism." 

Walter  was  silent.  "  But  I  wish  I  were  old, 
grandfather  ;  I  would  be  independent  of  every- 
body." 

"  No,  you  wouldn't ;  nobody  is  independent. 
Now  I  am  too  old  to  do  anything  useful.  I 
have  to  depend  on  others  for  many  things." 

"  Then,  it  is  better  fun  to  be  young  and  little 
after  all." 

Grandfather  smiled.  "Most  people  think 
so." 

"  Would  you  like  to  be  young  and  little,  like 
me?" 

"No, "said  grandfather,  "I  am  content  to 
be  old  and  feeble  ;  I  have  lived  a  long  time ; 
God  has  been  very  good  to  me,  and  I  hope 
soon  to  join  in  praising  Him  in  Heaven,  if  he 
thinks  me  worthy,  after  purifying  my  soul  in 
Purgatory." 

"Grandfather,  I  would  like  to  be  old  like 
you  to  feel  that  way." 

"No,  Walter,  be  content ;  be  as  good  as  you 


154  STOKIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

can ;  do  your  best  every  hour  of  your  life. 
That  will  make  you  as  happy  as  any  man  can 
be  outside  of  Heaven." 

Walter   kissed    his    grandfather,    and   they 
spent   a   pleasant   afternoon   together, 


THE  LAST  MEETING  OF  THE 
T.  I.  &  B.  B.  E.'S. 


"w 


IIO  goes  there  ?  " 
Me." 


' '  That's  not  grammar  !  " 

"Yes,  it  is!'; 

"No,  it  isn't!" 

"I  say  it  is  !" 

"  My  teacher  says  it  isn't." 

"  What  ought  it  to  be,  then?" 

"  I." 

' '  But  the  pass-word  is  '  Haw  heads  and 
bloody  bones ! ' ' 

"  Pass  in!" 

This  dialogue  took  place  between  Harry 
Jones  and  John  McDermott.  Harry  was  hold- 
ing up  one  side  of  his  father's  cellar-door.  In 
the  cellar  an  important  meeting  was  about  to 
take  place.  Against  a  barrel  of  potatoes  was 
propped  up  a  chair  with  three  legs.  On  this 
155 


156  STORIES   AND    SKETCHES. 

chair  sat  the  captain  of  the  T.  I.  and  B.  B.  E.'s. 
His  jacket  was  turned  inside  out,  so  was  his 
cap.  He  held  a  broom-stick  in  one  hand  ;  and 
there  were  three  splashes  of  red  brick-dust  on 
his  face  and  hands. 

Around  him,  grouped  in  a  circle,  were  five 
other  boys,  each  with  his  coat  or  jacket  turned 
inside  out,  but  with  no  red  paint  on  and  no 
broom-stick.  The  boy  with  these  distinctions 
was  the  captain  of  the  T.  I.  and  B.  B.  E.'s. 
He  was  a  very  generous  fellow.  Previous  to 
John  McDermott's  entrance,  he  had  passed 
around  a  very  small  green  apple  and  permitted 
each  boy  to  take  a  bite  from  it.  His  name  was 
Al  Smith.  He  said  he  had  once  killed  a  snake. 
His  father  was  a  policeman.  These  qualities 
made  him  much  respected  by  the  T.  I.  and 
B.  B.  E.'s. 

"Hail,  brother!"  all  the  T.  I.  and  B.  B. 
E.'s  cried  out  as  John  McDermott  entered. 

"What  bring'st  thou  to  the  banquet?"  de- 
manded the  captain,  chewing  the  core  of  his 
apple,  which  had  just  been  given  to  him.  John 
pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  link  of  Bologna 
sausage,  and  held  it  up  triumphantly  before 
the  conclave.  A  cry  of  delight  was  given  by 
the  T.  I.  and  B.  B.  E.'s. 


THE    T.  I.  AND   B.  B.  E.'S.  157 

"  Tis  well,"  said  the  captain.  "Shall  we 
feast?  "Would  that  this  were  the  blood  of  the 
savage  red-skin  !  "  he  cried,  wrinkling  his  nose 
ferociously.  "  Ha  !  Ha  !  " 

"  Give  the  captain  the  first  bite  !  "  said  Harry 
Jones. 

The  sausage  was  solemnly  presented  to  the 
captain,  who  bit  off  the  end.  Then  the  owner 
had  his  share,  and  so  on.  The  next  comer 
admitted  was  Pat  Brady,  a  fat  boy  with  twin- 
kling eyes. 

"Hast  thou  brought  a  scalp,  or  perchance 
the  bloody  limb  of  some  r-r-r-r-r-roamer  of 
the  for-r-r-r-r-est  ?  " 

"Not  much,  me  noble  duke,"  said  Pat. 
"  There  was  no  red-skin  on  Broadway  this 
morning,  or  I  should  have  torn  him  limb  from 
limb  !  " 

"There  speaks  a  true  T.  I.  &  B.  B.  E." 
cried  the  captain,  smearing  more  brick-dust  on 
his  hands,  and  lighting  a  "  smoker." 

"  Ma  said  we  wern't  to  have  any  matches," 
cried  Harry  Jones.  "  I  don't  think  it's  fair  to 
come  into  a  fellow's  cellar  and  smoke  '  smok- 
ers '.  I  won't  play  !  " 

' '  Play  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  said  the  captain  of 
the  T.  I.  and  B.  B.  E.'s,  in  a  sepulchral  voice. 


158  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"  Is  this  play?  Wistest  thou,  rash  youth,  that 
to-morrow  we  start  on  the  road  towards  the 
forest?  Every  brave  will  have  at  least  ten 
cents  in  his  pocket  and  a  basket  of  provisions. 
We  go  forth  to  the  wilds  of  Jersey.  There 
we  will  slay — aye,  slay, —  until  the  earth  be- 
comes as  crimson  as  this  gor-r-r-r-r-e  upon 
me  ar-r-r-m." 

The  T.  I.  and  B.  B.  E.'s  trembled,  while 
the  august  captain  waved  his  broom-stick. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do?"  demanded 
Pat  Brady.  "  Hunt  mosquitoes  in  Jersey?" 

"Ha!  ha!  dost  hear  him,  brethren  of  the 
T.  I.  and  B.  B.  E.'s?" 

"We  do!" 

"Know,  then,  rash  intruder,  that  we  have 
sworn  to  drive  the  red-skin  from  the  soil.  You 
have  read  of  Pawnee  Bob,  the  slayer  of  the 
Piutes  ?  " 

"  Don't  read  dime  novels,"  said  Pat. 

"  Maybe,"  continued  the  captain,  "  you  have 
not  heard  of  Old  Sleuth  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Pat. 

"Well,  I  am  about  to  lead  you  all  in  the 
paths  of  these  great  men.  I — but  what  has  our 
new  brother  brought  to  the  cause  of  the  T.  I. 
and  B.  B.  E.'s,  with  which  to  feast  our  souls  ? 
No  raw  sweet  potatoes  will  be  accepted." 


THE    T.  I.  AND   B.  B.  E.'s.  159 

Pat  suddenly  drew  out  of  his  pocket  a  big 
live  crab.  He  threw  it  on  the  floor.  It  acted 
as  live  crabs  usually  acted,  and  the  T.  I.  and 
B.  B.  E.'s  yelled,  scrambled  over  one  another, 
and  scattered  Mrs.  Jones'  ash-kettles  right  and 
left. 

The  captain  fell  from  his  throne  and  sprawled 
on  the  floor.  Suddenly  a  voice  was  heard  on 
the  stairs  — 

"You  Harry!" 

A  silence  fell  on  the  T.  I.  and  B.  B.  E.'s. 
The  captain  rose  and  disappeared  through  the 
cellar- door.  The  other  T.  I.  and  B.  B.  E.'s 
scrambled  after  him.  Pat  Brady  was  dragged 
up  the  ladder,  because  he  clung  to  tho  last 
boy's  coat  tail. 

Mrs.  Jones  was  astonished  to  find  the  cellar 
empty. 

"I  say,  fellows,"  cried  Pat,  when  they 
reached  the  street,  "  you're  nice  Terrible  In- 
dian and  Big  Buffalo  Exterminators,  when 
you're  A.  O.  C.  A.  A.  W." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  cried  the  captain. 

' '  I  mean  that  you'd  better  give  up  reading 
dime  novels  and  talking  nonsense  about  Indian 
fighting,  when  you're  afraid  of  a  crab  and  a 
woman ! " 


160  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

The  T.  I.  and  B.  B.  E.'s  were  quiet. 

"You're  right,  Pat,"  said  the  captain. 
"Let's  drop  dime  novels  and  story  papers. 
They'll  never  make  men  of  us." 

And  the  T.  I.  and  B.  B.  E.'s  took  the  cap- 
tain's advice. 


A  DAY  AT  RIDGEWOOD. 


IT  was  comfortable  and  warm  and  cheerful 
inside.  A  bright  fire  burned  in  the  grate. 
Grandmother  sat  at  one  side  of  the  fire  with 
her  knitting,  Aunt  Frances  at  the  other,  mak- 
ing a  little  cap  for  Baby. 

The  four  children,  Lousia  and  Ellen,  and 
their  cousins,  Jack  and  Willie,  were  not  so 
content  with  the  pleasant  room  as  the  other 
people  were.  Snow  had  begun  to  fall,  at 
first  slowly,  then  quickly,  with  many  a  whirl. 
The  passers-by  turned  up  their  collars,  and 
trudged  along.  But  somehow  or  other,  the 
coming  of  the  snow  seemed  to  make  every- 
body outside  more  cheerful. 

Jack  and  Willie  left  their  building  blocks 
and  went  to  the  window. 

After  awhile,  only  a  few  white  feathers  fell, 
slowly  and  reluctantly.  Then  the  boys,  with 
brooms  and  shovels,  began  to  ring  bells  and 

161 


162  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

knock  at  doors.  "Want  your  pavements 
cleaned  off?" 

Jack  and  Willie  looked  longingly  at  these 
boys  at  work. 

' '  Why  can't  we  go  out  and  shovel  snow  ? " 

"Why  can't  we  V" 

The  boys  asked  this  question  first,  and  the 
%'irls  imitated  them.  Grandmother  was  shocked. 

"Go  out  on  a  day  like  this!  No,  indeed! 
Did  they  want  to  get  their  feet  wet  ? " 

' '  But  we  have  good  strong  shoes  ! "  cried  the 
children,  "and  Ellen  and  Louisa  have  rubber 
boots!" 

"I  don't  think  they  ought  to  go,  do  you, 
Frances?"  asked  Grandmother. 

"Well,"  said  Aunt  Frances,  "I  think  you 
might  let  them  go.  It  is  very  jolly  outside. 
I'd  like  to  go  myself,  if  it  were  not  for  the 
fact  that  it  would  look  queer  to  see  me  mak- 
ing snow-balls." 

"May  we  go?" 

"Do  let  us  go!" 

"We'll  be  so  good,  Grandmother  !" 

"  Oh,  do  come,  Aunt  Frances  !" 

After  a  great  many  exclamations  and  en- 
treaties, Grandmother  at  last  consented,  mak- 
ing all  kinds  of  stipulations. 


A    DAY    AT    EIDGEWOOD.  163 

Sleigh-bells  sounded.  The  children  rushed 
to  the  window.  A  big,  rough,  board-sleigh 
passed,  crowded  with  laughing  children. 

"  Oh,  how  happy  they  must  be  ! "  cried  Aunt 
Frances;  "  I  would  like  to  have  a  sleigh-ride 
myself ! " 

' '  I  wish  we  could  ! " 

' '  Here  conies  another  sleigh  ! " 

Gracefully  turning  the  corner,  like  a  swan 
floating  on  a  lake,  came  a  beautifully  curved 
sleigh,  big  and  comfortable-looking. 

The  man  who  drove  was  heavily  muffled  in 
furs.  The  children  could  not  see  his  face. 
Suddenly  the  sleigh  was  stopped  at  the  door ; 
and  the  driver  ran  up  their  steps — actually 
their  steps. 

The  children  looked  at  one  another  in  breath- 
less expectation.  Who  could  it  be? 

Aunt  Frances  smiled.  She  guessed  who  it 
was. 

The  door  of  the  parlor  opened,  and  a  gentle- 
man entered.  He  raised  the  visor  of  his  fur 
cap,  and  kissed  them  all,  except  Aunt  Frances. 

"Walter,  oh,  Walter!" 

Walter  was  very  jolly. 

"I've  come  to  take  you  all  out  to  Ridge- 
wood,"  he  said.  "The  sleigh  will  be  rather 


164  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

crowded,  but  you  will  not  mind  that,  will  you? 
We'll  have  something  to  eat  at  the  hotel,  so 
you  needn't  wait  for  luncheon,  and  the  children 
can  make  monstrous  snow-balls  on  the  side  of 
the  hill." 

Grandmother  would  not  go.  Aunt  Frances 
seemed  delighted,  and  there  was  a  great  scram- 
ble for  coats  and  hats,  scarfs  and  gloves. 

Finally,  everybody  was  helped  into  the 
sleigh,  and  nearly  smothered  in  buffalo  robes. 
How  happy  they  all  were  ! 

' '  Get  up  ! "  The  whip  cracked  ;  the  bells 
jingled.  "Hooray!"  cried  the  boys  cleaning 
the  pavements.  "  Hooray  !" 

They  passed  the  little  church,  whose  golden 
cross  gleamed  bright  against  the  blue  sky. 
Father  Redmond  was  just  entering  his  house, 
and  he  waved  his  hand  to  them.  They  all 
cried  out,  "  Good  morning,  Father  ! "  in  return. 

They  crossed  the  car-tracks,  passed  the  big 
car-stables,  rode  through  the  Park  as  quickly  as 
the  driving-rules  would  let  them,  and  they 
were  soon  in  the  open  country.  They  met  a 
young  man  on  a  bicycle,  making  tracks  through 
the  snow.  It  seemed  very  funny ;  but  the 
young  man  had  a  hard  time  ploughing  nlo  ig. 

Jack  said  that  winter  bicycles  ought  to  be 
made  with  runners. 


A    DAY    AT    IlIDGEWOOD.  165 

Walter  said  that  the  i)ropcr  pronunciation  of 
the  word  was  "bi-cy-cle,  with  the  accent  on 
the  '  cy.'"  Everybody  laughed  at  Walter,  and 
Aunt  Frances  said  that,  although  it  might  do 
in  Greek,  it  would  not  do  in  English. 

The  children  thought  this  very  witty.  So 
did  Walter,  who  laughed  very  much,  which 
induced  Aunt  Frances  to  say  other  lively 
things,  which  sent  the  children  into  convul- 
sions. They  wanted  to  laugh. 

They  stopped  to  get  a  bunch  of  red  berries 
Avhich  showed  above  the  snow,  and  Aunt 
Frances  got  out  to  pick  up  a  half-frozen 
robin,  which  she  laid  carefully  in  the  pocket 
of  her  fur  wrap. 

The  air  was  fresh ;  the  sky  all  blue  and 
gold ;  the  bells  jingled  lightly ;  and  Walter, 
finding  the  country  was  very  quiet,  and  there 
was  nobody  to  listen,  began  to  sing :  — 

"  The  robin  in  his  leafy  tent 
Sings  all  day  long  and  is  content, 
He  does  not  have  to  pay  his  rent, 
He!  he!  he!  he!  he!  he!" 

The  children  screamed  with  delight.  Walter 
could  not  reach  a  high  note,  and  his  voice  broke. 
Then  there  was  more  delight,  and  Aunt  Frances 
cried :  — 


166  STORIES   AND   SKETCHES. 

"  Hear,  hear,  hear,  hear, 

Hear  the  horses  neighing, 

See,  see,  see,  see, 
See  the  children  playing, 

We,  we,  we,  we, 
We  all  go  a-sleighing, 

Jing,  jing,  jing,  jing!" 

The  children  joined  in  this  chorus  with  a 
will ;  they  were  still  singing  when  Walter 
stopped  the  horses  at  Ridge  wood  Hotel. 

It  was  a  long  wooden  building,  with  a  porch 
running  around  it.  It  was  perched  on  the  top 
of  a  hill. 

The  merry  party  were  met  by  the  landlady 
at  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  she  said,  cheerfully.  "Come 
in ;  dinner's  almost  ready,  sir,"  she  said  to 
Walter.  "I  got  your  note,  and  I  made  apple- 
dumplings  for  dessert,  as  you  said." 

The  children  were  charmed.  They  liked 
apple-dumplings. 

In  another  minute  they  were  out  again  in  the 
snow,  rolling  up  a  big  snow-ball.  The  whole 
four  pushed  it  up  hill  with  all  their  might.  It 
grew  bigger  and  bigger. 

"Isn't  it  lovely!'"  cried  the  girls. 

They  pushed  and  pushed.  Jack  stumbled 
and  fell  on  his  face.  They  all  laughed. 


A    DAY    AT    RIDGE  WOOD.  167 

Jack  grumbled,  and  asked,  "How  would 
you  like  it,  if  I  laughed  at  you?" 

They  laughed  louder,  and  pushed  again. 
The  snow- ball  grew  bigger  and  bigger.  They 
were  near  the  top  of  the  hill.  Jack  thought 
he  saw  a  bird's  nest  in  the  snow.  He  went  to 
get  it,  but  it  was  only  some  dried  leaves.  Just 
as  he  turned,  Louisa  fell,  and  the  big  snow- 
ball rolled  over  her,  knocking  down  Ellen  and 
Willie.  It  did  not  stop  till  it  reached  the  bot- 
tom of  the  hill.  Aunt  Frances  and  Walter 
stood  on  the  porch,  laughing. 

"How  do  you  like  it,  now?"  said  Jack,  as 
the  other  children  picked  themselves  up,  and 
brushed  the  snow  from  their  clothes. 

' '  I'll  never  laugh  again  at  a  boy  when  he  is 
down,"  said  Willie.  "I  know  how  it  is." 

' '  And  I  think  it's  very  nice  of  Jack  not  to 
laugh  at  us,"  said  Ellen. 

The  dinner  was  good  ;  everything  was  "just 
right ; "  and  the  drive  home  was  the  best  of  all 
that  happened  on  the  ever-to-be-remembered 
day  at  Kidgewood. 


GRACE   COURT. 


r"pHEY  called  the  place  Grace  Court.  It 
contained  about  twenty-two  houses.  It 
was  near  a  great  river,  but  the  houses  were  so 
high  that  in  the  hot  days  of  summer  scarcely 
a  breath  of  air  stirred  the  clothes  which  hung 
from  the  lines  stretched  across  from  house  to 
house. 

Occasionally  the  children  in  Grace  Court 
saw  a  city  sparrow,  and  in  one  corner  of  the 
court  there  was  a  stunted  mulberry-tree. 
They  had  no  other  glimpses  of  the  wonders 
of  the  country  than  these.  The  boys  some- 
times, in  the  summer  evenings,  went  to  swim 
in  the  river;  and  their  principal  amusement 
was  in  avoiding  the  policemen  who  objected 
to  their  jumping  off  anchor-chains  and  barges 
at  the  risk  of  their  lives. 

On  summer  nights  the  sight  of  many  poor 
women  and  children  sitting  on  the  door-steps 
168 


GRACE    COURT.  169 


and  pavements  and  gasping  for  air  was  very 
wretched. 

Nearly  all  the  women  and  children  in  Grace 
Court  worked  at  cigar-making.  The  men 
found  employment  along  the  wharves.  But 
many  of  the  men  drank  too  much  and  helped 
to  make  their  wives  and  children  unhappy. 

It  happened  that  some  of  the  people  in 
Grace  Court  were  Catholics.  Good  Father 
Beresford,  rector  of  the  chapel  of  the  Star  of 
the  Sea,  saw  their  wretchedness,  and  did  what 
he  could  to  help  them.  It  was  hard  for  him 
to  get  the  children  to  come  to  Mass  or  to  the 
Catechism  class.  They  had,  as  a  rule,  no 
"  Sunday  clothes,"  and  some  of  their  mothers, 
although  they  had  not  enough  pride  in  their 
children  to  wash  their  faces,  had  too  much  to 
permit  them  to  go  to  church  without  new  bon- 
nets and  frocks.  Few  of  these  children  went 
to  school.  They  were  needed  at  home  to 
make  cigars. 

Father  Beresford  and  all  his  flock  were  very 
poor.  It  occurred  to  him  that  if  he  could 
interest  some  kind  people  in  his  colony  in 
Grace  Court,  he  would  be  able  to  improve 
their  condition.  They  needed  so  much  that 
he  could  not  give  them.  His  heart  was  sore 


170  STORIES  AND  SKETCHES. 

when  he  thought  of  them.  He  had  established 
a  school,  but  it  was  hard  to  fill  it.  Two  good 
Sisters  of  Charity  taught  the  children  that 
came.  Their  parents  had  so  much  need  of 
them  at  home,  that  even  these  were  often 
absent. 

It  occurred  to  Father  Beresford  that  if  he 
could  start  a  night-school  and  make  it  attrac- 
tive, he  could  induce  a  great  many  children  to 
come.  But  he  had  no  money,  and  there  was 
nobody  to  teach  at  night.  The  Sisters  were 
willing  to  undertake  this  new  work,  but  Father 
Beresford  would  not  hear  of  that.  After 
teaching  all  day  in  a  close  room,  they  ought 
not  to  think  of  renewing  their  labors  in  the 
evening.  In  this  emergency,  Father  Beresford 
could  only  ask  the  Sisters  to  pray  for  him  and 
his  work. 

In  the  meantime  his  heart  sunk  whenever  he 
passed  through  Grace  Court.  The  parents 
seemed  to  be  hardened  in  vice.  If  he  could 
only  reach  the  children,  there  might  be  some 
hope  for  the  fathers  and  mothers. 

One  afternoon  in  the  spring  he  entered  the 
school-room.  It  was  late  in  March,  and  one 
of  those  spring  showers  that  are  the  heralds  of 


GRACE    COURT.  171 


April  was  beginning  to  pelt  the  sidewalks. 
There  was  only  one  little  girl  in  the  school- 
room. She  was  a  little  creature  with  a  sweet, 
thoughtful  face,  and  dark-blue  eyes  that  lost 
their  far-away  look  only  when  some  sudden 
sound  startled  her.  She  seemed  very  nervous. 
She  paused  in  her  task  and  leaned  her  chin 
upon  the  frame  of  her  slate  as  Father  Beres- 
ford  entered  the  room. 

"  You  are  late,  Sister  Rose,"  he  said  to  the 
teacher.  "And,  Mary,  I  am  surprised  to  see 
you  here.  'Kept  in,'  I  suppose." 

Mary  did  not  look  ashamed.  She  only 
pressed  her  chin  harder  against  her  slate,  and 
answered — - 

"I  like  to  be  'kept  in.'" 

Sister  Rose  smiled  a  little.  ' '  She  is  not  a 
bad  child,  Father ;  she  gets  along  very  well 
until  school  is  about  to  close ;  then  she  mis- 
spells a  word  or  makes  a  failure  in  her  arith- 
metic lesson." 

At  this  moment  a  knock  sounded  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in  !"  said  Father  Beresford. 

A  boy  and  an  old  woman  dressed  in  black 
entered.  The  boy  Avas  about  fifteen  years  of 
age.  He  bowed  politely  to  Father  Beresford 
and  Sister  Rose. 


172  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said;  "  the  rain  came  up 
so  suddenly  that  I  took  the  liberty  of  knocking 
at  this  door." 

' '  Afraid  of  getting  wet  ?  " 

"No,  Father,"  answered  the  boy,  with  a 
slight  flush  on  his  cheeks  ;  "I  was  afraid  that 
my  mother  might  get  wet." 

' '  I  hope  that  your  mother  will  sit  down  and 
rest  awhile." 

The  lady,  who  did  not  seem  so  old  when 
she  drew  aside  her  veil,  thanked  Father  Beres- 
ford. 

"The  school  is  open  later  than  usual,  be- 
cause this  little  girl  likes  to  be  '  kept  in.' " 

The  old  lady  turned  towards  the  little  girl. 

"That  is  very  strange,  Father,"  she  said; 
"I  thought  little  girls  liked  to  get  out  of 
school  as  soon  as  they  could." 

"  I  don't,"  answered  the  little  girl.  "  I  like 
to  stay  here  with  Sister  Rose.  Sister  Rose 
does  not  scold.  There  is  nobody  cross  here. 
I  like  to  be  here." 

Father  Beresford  sighed.  He  knew  very 
well  why  little  Mary  Thorn  liked  to  be  "  kept 
in  ;  "  and  so  did  Sister  Rose.  But  the  visitors 
did  not. 

"  What  a  funny  little  girl !  "  said  the  boy. 


GRACE    COURT.  173 


' '  Why  do  you  like  to  be  '  kept  in  ? '  "  asked 
the  lady. 

The  little  girl  said,  "  I  like  it." 

"I  am  Mrs.  Wisby.  This  is  my  son  Rob- 
ert, Father.  As  we  have  recently  moved  into 
your  parish,  I  think  you  ought  to  know  us. 
My  husband,  who  has  just  died,  left  me  the 
old  house  near  White's  wharves  ;  and  as  I  am 
not  rich  and  nobody  will  rent  it  of  me  I  occupy 
it  myself." 

"  You  are  a  Catholic." 

"Oh,  yes." 

The  priest,  all  of  whose  thoughts  were  intent 
upon  Grace  Court,  thought,  "  I  wonder  if  she 
could  help  me  ?  " 

The  widow's  face  flushed.  She  seemed  to 
guess  his  thought. 

"  I  am  in  very  moderate  circumstances," 
she  said.  "I  have  to  be  very  careful.  I 
often  wish  I  could  do  some  good,  but  I  can't." 

Father  Beresford  looked  at  her  gravely,  — 
"  I  am  not  rich,  Sister  Rose  is  not  rich." 

"  But  you  are  rich  in  grace." 

Father  Beresford  continued  :  — 

"  If  you  have  any  curiosity  to  know  why 
this  child  likes  to  be  '  kept  in,'  go  home  with 
her." 


174  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"  Perhaps  her  parents  might  object  —  " 

"  Not  at  all.  Go  home  with  her  ;  and  if — 
having  found  out  why  she  does  not  like  to  go 
home,  as  happier  children  do  —  you  can  do  her 
any  good,  let  me  know." 

"  I  will.  Come,  Robert;  come,  little  girl. 
Good-by,  Sister  Rose." 

Little  Mary  Thorn  reluctantly  put  down  her 
slate,  pencil,  and  sponge,  and  followed  Mrs. 
Wisby  and  her  son. 

Grace  Court  was  not  far  off.  Mrs.  Wisby 
talked  pleasantly  to  the  little  girl  as  they 
walked  along,  and  Robert  told  a  little  story 
about  a  lame  robin  his  mother  had  taken  care 
of  all  winter.  Mary  listened  ;  but  only  said  :  — 

"I  wish  I  lived  away  —  far  away,  where 
there  are  robins." 

In  a  short  time  they  reached  the  d'rty  flight 
of  stone  steps  leading  to  Grace  Court.  Once 
within  the  narrow  street  without  any  outlet 
which  formed  the  court,  they  paused  at  a  dark- 
colored  door  ornamented  with  chalk-marks  and 
deep  cuts  in  the  wood-work.  Mary  led  the 
way  up  stairs.  It  was  a  dark  way,  and  Mrs. 
Wisby  was  prevented  by  Robert  from  stum- 
bling several  times. 


GRACE    COVET.  175 


Loud  talking  could  be  heard  on  almost  all 
the  landings,  and  the  angry  voices  of  scolding 
mothers  were  very  loud.  At  last,  when  Mrs. 
Wisby  was  entirely  out  of  breath,  Mary  stop- 
ped before  a  door  on  the  highest  landing.  She 
turned  the  knob  nervously.  The  room  was  full 
of  smoke.  A  woman  was  frying  meat  in  a  pan 
over  the  fire.  She  turned  to  Mary,  dropped 
the  pan  and  exclaimed  :  — 

"  You  idle  vagabond,  I'll  break  every  bone 
in  your  body  !  " 

Mrs.  "VYisby  interfered.  It  was  plain  that 
the  woman  had  been  drinking  too  much  liquor 
from  the  black  bottle  that  stood  near  the 
hearth. 

"  She  is  my  aunt,"  says  Mary.  "  She  is 
always  this  way  ;  so  is  he." 

Mrs.  Wisby  noticed  for  the  first  tune  that  a 
man  lay  on  the  uncarpeted  floor. 

* '  We've  taken  this  orphan  in  and  done  for 
her,"  the  woman  said,  "  but  she's  idle.  She 
don't  want  to  make  cigars,  like  the  other  chil- 
dren in  the  court.  She  likes  to  go  to  the 
Papist  school  around  the  corner.  But  her 
uncle  and  I  won't  have  it  any  more.  She's 
got  to  give  up  the  school  next  week." 

"Mary  began  to  cry. 


176  STORIES  AND    SKETCHES. 

"I  can't,  I  can't!"  she  .sobbed.  "I  help 
you  all  I  can,  and  you  said  I  might  go  to 
school." 

"  No  matter  what  I  said,"  cried  the  woman 
in  a  fury.  "  I'll  have  no  more  idleness.  If 
the  priest  hadn't  come  here  and  over-persuaded 
me,  I  should  never  have  let  you  go.  I  don't 
see  what  you  mean  by  bringing  these  strangers 
here.  I  suppose  they  brought  tracts  and 
Bibles  with  them." 

"  Father  Beresford  sent  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Wisby,  "  to  see  if  I  could  do  you  any  good." 

"  Of  course  you  can,"  replied  the  woman, 
with  a  coarse  laugh.  "  Just  give  me  enough 
money  for  a  quart  of  whiskey.  Go  get  the 
pitcher,  Mary." 

"No,  I  cannot  do  that,"  said  Mrs.  Wisby. 

"  Then  get  out  o'  here  !  "  cried  the  woman. 

The  man  on  the  floor  grunted  like  a  pig. 

"  Come,  Eobert." 

They  descended  the  stairs,  followed  by  oaths 
and  curses. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  little  Mary  pulled 
Mrs.  Wisby's  dress. 

"Oh,  ma'am,"  she  whispered  nervously, 
"  don't,  don't  let  them  take  me  away  from  the 
school.  Dont,  don't.  1  shall  die  if  they  do  !" 


GRACE    COURT.  177 


Robert  was  a  thoughtful  hoy. 

The  death  of  his  father  had  caused  his 
mother  to  bear  upon  him  more  than  mothers 
do  upon  their  sons. 

"  I  wish  I  were  rich,"  sighed  Mrs.  Wisby, 
as  they  left  Grace  Court.  "  I  wish  we  could 
do  something ;  but  I'm  afraid  we  can't.  Poor 
little  girl !  such  a  home.  Dear,  dear,  what 
can  we  do,  Rob?" 

. "  A  great  deal,"  answered  Robert,  "  a  great 
deal,  little  mother." 

< «  What  ?     Father  Beresford  has  failed . " 

"  Because  Father  Beresford  has  nobody  in 
his  parish  to  help  him." 

"It  is  hopeless,  Robert." 

Robert  was  silent  until  his  mother  set  to 
work  to  get  tea  in  the  cosy  little  sitting-room 
of  their  big  house,  which  had  been  so  long 
deserted. 

Robert  loved  the  evenings  spent  with  his 
mother.  His  days  were  spent  in  an  office  up- 
town, where  he  was  studying  law. 

"We  have  too  much  room  here,  mother," 
he  said,  as  he  helped  himself  to  one  of  his 
mother's  poached  eggs,  and,  looking  at  the 
bright  lamp,  the  pretty  red  curtains,  and  the 
well-spread  table,  thought  of  poor  little  Mary. 


178  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"Yes,"  answered  his  mother;  "the  big 
front  parlor  is  more  like  a  barn  than  a  room. 
If  I  could  afford  to  have  it  done,  I  should  turn 
it  into  a  store." 

"  I  think  I  shall  open  a  school." 

"Kobert,  Eobert ! " 

"  Yes.  I  have  heard  that  Father  Beresford 
sees  how  hopeless  it  is  to  get  working  children 
to  go  to  school  on  week-days,  and  that  he 
wants  to  start  a  night-school.  They  will  not 
go  to  the  Catechism  class  on  Sunday,  because 
they  have  no  clothes." 

"  But  you  can't  help  that." 

"  Just  a  minute,  mother.  Half  the  children 
are  made  sick  by  the  unhealthy  work  of  cigar- 
making.  I  want  to  teach  them  something  else 
to  do,  as  well  as  their  religion.  Will  you  let 
me  have  the  use  of  the  parlor  ?  " 

"  You  have  no  tune,  Robert." 

"At  night." 

' '  But  our  evenings  —  our  pleasant  even- 
ings ! " 

"We'll  have  to  give  them  up,  mother,  for 
God's  sake." 

Mrs.  Wisby  sighed.  The  evenings  with  her 
son  were  very  dear  to  her.  But  she  felt  that 
if  any  good  could  be  done,  she  ought  to  give 
them  up. 


GRACE    COURT.  179 


Father  Beresford  was  pleased  when  Robert 
came  to  him  with  his  plan. 

"My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  "if  you  could 
teach  these  children  to  use  their  hands  in  any 
way  that  will  help  them  to  earn  a  living,  you 
will  remove  a  great  obstacle  from  my  way. 
Cigar-making  injures  the  health  of  the  chil- 
dren, particularly  as  it  is  done  in  close,  filthy 
rooms.  If  I  had  a  big  room,  if  I  could  afford 
to  employ  somebody  to  teach  the  boys  and 
girls  any  craft  by  which  they  earn  a  little,  I 
could  teach  them  what  I  please.  Their  parents 
want  them  to  earn  money  as  soon  as  they  can 
walk.  Some  of  them  badly  need  this  money. 
They  are  not  all  so  bad  as  little  Mary  Thorn's 
people.  If  I  could  only  reach  the  children,  I 
could  soon  touch  the  parents.  Most  of  the 
children  who  are  permitted  to  go  to  school  at 
all  go  to  the  public  school.  They  don't  learn 
religion  there,  and  they  learn  very  little  at 
home." 

Robert's  plan  was  this.  He  had  heard  that 
day  that  the  confectioner  had  ordered  ten 
thousand  imitation  Easter  eggs,  but,  although 
it  wanted  only  three  weeks  of  the  great  fes- 
tival, he  had  not  been  able  to  find  anybody  who 
would  take  the  control  for  decorating  them. 


180  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"He  knew  my  father  well,"  said  Robert, 
"and  that  is  the  way  I  came  to  hear  of  it. 
He  supplies  little  pictures  which  the  decorator 
pastes  on.  But  some  of  the  eggs  are  really 
painted.  These,  of  course,  we  could  not  take 
until  some  of  the  children  have  learned  to 
paint  a  flower  or  a  butterfly.  But,  Father," 
continued  Robert,  "  my  mother  and  I  will  try 
to  teach  them  in  the  evenings." 

The  priest's  face  flushed  with  pleasure. 
•     "You  can  try!" 

Robert  rushed  off  to  the  confectioner's  at 
once.  The  matter  was  soon  settled.  The 
confectioner  even  advanced  some  money. 
Next  day  the  great  pile  of  hard,  stony  eggs 
stood  in  Mrs.  Wisby's  barn-like  drawing-room. 
The  carpet  had  been  taken  up  long  ago.  There 
was  a  stove  there,  plenty  of  light,  and  all  the 
benches  from  the  school. 

Father  Beresford  soon  made  the  people  of 
Grace  Court  understand  that  money  was  to  be 
made  in  this  new  kind  of  school.  Sister  Rose 
and  Sister  Bridget  taught  prayers,  hymns,  and 
the  catechism,  with  a  little  reading,  writing, 
and  arithmetic,  while  the  children  busily 
pasted  pictures  on  the  false  eggs. 

Before  Easter  Sunday  all  the  decorated  eggs 


GRACE    COURT. 


181 


were  delivered,  much  to  the  satisfaction  ot 
everybody.  The  children  of  Grace  Court 
were  healthier,  better,  and  happier.  In  the 
meantime  Robert  had  secured  a  large  contract 
for  decorating  Christmas  boxes. 

Mrs.  Wisby'a  evening  classes  were  successes. 
Mary  Thorn  showed  herself  so  quick  and  care- 
ful that  she  was  soon  promoted  to  be  best 
among  the  decorators. 

And  thus  the  industrial  school  helped  every- 
body. It  was  the  beginning  of  a  great  change 
in  Grace  Court. 


WHAT  THEY   FOUND   IN  THE 
COUNTRY. 


I. 


THEIR  names  were  Rose,  Cecilia,  and 
Anna ;  and,  as  their  mother  never  ap- 
proved of  "nicknames,"  they  were  called 
Rose,  Cecilia,  and  Anna. 

They  were  much  alike  in  appearance,  having 
light-colored  hair,  worn  long,  bright  blue  eyes, 
and  sweet  voices. 

They  were  city  children,  and  were  thought 
to  be  a  little  "  old-fashioned,"  because  they 
had  lived  so  much  with  their  mother,  who  was 
an  invalid,  and  had  become  more  quiet  and 
subdued  than  little  girls  usually  are. 

The  winter  had  been  long  and  dreary,  for 
Mrs.  Desmond,  their  mother,  had  not  been  out 
of  bed  since  the  feast  of  the  Immaculate  Con- 
ception, and  it  was  now  April.  In  the  morn- 
182 


WHAT  THEY  FOUND  IN  THE  COUNTRY.      183 

ing,  they  went  into  their  mother's  room,  and 
she  read  their  lessons  with  them.  After  that 
they  were  thrown  on  their  own  resources,  but 
so  anxious  were  they  about  their  dear  mother, 
that  they  scarcely  dared  play  for  fear  of  dis- 
turbing her. 

One  day  the  doctor  said  to  Mrs.  Desmond  : 
"  The  three  little  Palefaces  ought  to  get  out 
more." 

"Palefaces,      repeated  Mrs.  Desmond. 
"The    children  —  I  mean   the   children,   of 
course." 

"  Are  their  faces  pale?"  asked  the  mother, 
in  alarm.  "  I  have  not  noticed  it." 

"  That  is  because  you  see  them  so  often. 
Seriously,  the  children  are  quite  bleached  after 
their  winter  in  this  house  of  sickness.  Can't 
you  send  them  into  the  country?" 

"  I  have  nobody  to  send  them  with.     Poor, 
little    children !      If  their   father   were    alive, 
they  would  be  so  much  happier  !  " 
"  Send  for  Aunt  Susan." 
"It  is  too  early  in  the  season.     They  will 
catch  cold  in  April." 

"  Country  children  do  not  catch  cold.  They 
will  be  sick  if  you  do  not  let  them  have  exer- 
cise in  the  open  air.  Send  for  Aunt  Susan, 
nd  consult  her." 


184  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

And  the  doctor,  who  was  an  old  friend  of  the 
family,  took  his  leave. 


n. 


Kose  sat  at  the  piano  practising  and  counting 
"  one  and  two  and  three."  Cecilia  was  crying 
softly  to  herself  over  a  seam  which  would  go 
crooked,  and  which  nobody  in  the  house  had 
time  to  set  right.  Anna  was  deep  in  her  Cate- 
chism. 

"  Oh,  play  your  piece  !  "  said  Cecilia,  "  It 
may  make  us  feel  more  lively." 

Kose  laughed.  "  More  lively  !  I've  played 
it  so  often  I  think  it  ought  to  make  you 
gloomy." 

"  Well,"  said  Anna,  the  very  little  girl,  "  let 
us  pretend  that  it  is  a  new  piece." 

' '  Making  believe  "  had  great  charms  for  the 
children.  Rose  began  her  "  piece,"  "  The 
Maiden's  Prayer." 

"How  beautiful,"  exclaimed  Cecilia,  very 
gravely.  "What  is  the  name  of  that  lively 
piece  ?  " 

"  The  Young  Lady's  Aspirations." 


WHAT    THEY  FOUND   IN   THE    COUNTRY.     185 

"  Oh,  Rose,"  cried  Anna,  "  you  know  it  is 
«  The  Maiden's  Prayer.'  " 

"  But  I  am  '  making  believe.'  Besides  a 
young  lady  is  a  maiden,  and  a  prayer  is  an 
aspiration.  Mamma  told  me  so." 

Cecilia  and  Anna  were  both  struck  by  Rose's 
ingenuity. 

"  You  are  the  cleverest  one  of  this  family," 
said  Cecilia;  "Anna  is  the  prettiest,  and  I 
have  no  talent.  I  can't  even  get  my  seam 
straight,"  Cecilia  said,  in  a  tearful  tone. 

"Dear,  dear  Cecilia!"  cried  Rose,  putting 
her  arms  around  her  sister,  "You  always  know 
your  lessons,  you  know  you  do  !  " 

"I  don't  want  to  be  pretty,"  said  Anna. 
"  If  Cecilia's  ugly,  I'm  ugly.  Everybody  says 
we're  alike  as  two  peas." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Cecilia,  refusing  to  be  com- 
forted, "  but  you  have  one  tooth  out  in  front. 
It  makes  you  look  so  '  cute.' " 

This  settled  the  matter.  It  was  admitted 
that  Anna  was  the  prettiest  of  the  family  —  a 
compliment  which  she  rejected  with  disgust. 

After  a  pause  Rose  looked  out  to  the  rain- 
wet  street,  and  wished  mamma  would  let  them 
have  pet  names  for  one  another. 

"  I  don't."  said  Cecilia,  emphatically. 


186  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"  It  would  be  lovely.  '  Eosie  '  is  prettier 
than  '  Eose.'  '  Annie '  is  sweeter  than  '  Anna." 

"Don't!"  said  Cecilia,  beginning  to  cry 
again. 

"Why,  Cecilia!" 

"Don't!" 

"What  are  you  crying  for,  silly?"  asked 
Eose,  indignantly. 

"I  knew  you  would  call  me  '  Silly.'  You 
two  could  have  pet  names,  but  I  couldn't. 
You  would  be  sure  to  call  Cecilia  '  Silly '  for 
short. 

It  was  plain  that  Cecilia  was  in  a  mournful 
mood.  Nothing  pleased  her.  She  objected 
to  Anna's  murmuring  of  her  catechism  lesson. 

These  three  little  girls,  having  been  left  so 
much  to  themselves,  had  come  to  consider 
their  feelings,  wants,  and  occupations  as  more 
important  than  anything  else  in  the  world. 
They  were  growing  more  selfish  every  day. 
They  loved  their  mother  devotedly,  but  their 
mother  never  exacted  anything  from  them. 
They  had  no  interest  outside  of  themselves. 
They  were  kind,  good-hearted  children  in  the 
main,  they  had  never  known  the  privations  of 
the  poor,  and  they  considered  that  there  were 
no  children  in  the  world  worse  off  than  they 


AVI  I  AT  THEY  FOUND  IN  THE  COUNTRY.   187 

were.  Cecilia  was  of  a  more  melancholy  dis- 
position than  the  others.  Her  chief  occupation, 
particularly  on  rainy  days,  was  to  compare  her 
shortcomings  and  misfortunes  with  the  advan- 
tages of  her  sisters,  or  the  people  who  passed 
by  tho  windows  of  their  play-room.  Cecilia 
envied  the  children  wrho  ran  through  the  streets 
i:i  the  rain.  And  she  often  wished  she  was  one 
of  the  poor,  ragged  children  they  saw  at  Mass. 
They  had  no  scales  to  practice ;  their  mothers 
were  not  shut  up  in  dark  rooms  upstairs  ;  their 
sisters  were  not  so  much  better  than  they 
were  ;  they  could  run  out  without  their  hats  or 
rubber  shoes ;  they  could  eat  what  they  chose 
without  being  bothered  by  anybody.  Cecilia 
often  compared  herself  to  Cinderella.  And 
the  tears  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  went  through 
in  imagination,  a  long  career  of  suffering.  But 
Cecilia  never  had  a  happy  ending  to  her  story. 
She  always  liked  to  die  at  the  end  ;  she  did  not 
care  for  the  Prince  to  come  ;  she  concluded  her 
story  by  imagining  herself  as  dead,  killed  by 
her  cruel  stepmother,  and  drawn  to  the  grave 
in  an  omnibus  surrounded  by  weeping  friends. 
The  sadness  of  the  situation,  on  this  day  in 
April,  overcame  her.  She  burst  into  tears. 
"  Why,  Cecilia,"  cried  her  sisters. 


188  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

Just  then  a  cab,  with  a  trunk  on  it,  drew  up 
to  the  door.  A  smiling  face  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  cab.  The  children  ran  to  the  win- 
dow. It  was  Aunt  Susan's  face. 


m. 

Their  Aunt  Susan  was  not  an  old  lady. 
Somehow  or  other  Aunt  Susans  generally  seem 
to  be  old  ladies.  This  Aunt  Susan  was  young. 
She  smiled  a  great  deal ;  she  talked  a  great 
deal ;  she  was  very  good. 

Eose  rushed  to  the  door.  Aunt  Susan 
kissed  her,  and  gave  her  a  bag  and  several 
bundles.  Then  she  told  the  cabman  to  take 
up  her  trunk,  and  kissed  Cecilia  and  Anna. 

Rose  was  heartily  glad  to  see  her.  Cecilia 
could  not  help  wondering  whether  Aunt  Susan 
had  brought  her  anything,  and  saying  to  her- 
self that  it  would  not  be  so  pretty  as  the  gifts 
for  the  other  girls.  Anna  was  divided  between 
pleasure  at  something  having  happened  and 
the  hope  that  Aunt  Susan  had  brought  plenty 
of  candy.  She  raised  her  chubby  face  to  her 


WHAT   THEY  FOUND   IX    THE    COUNTRY.     189 

aunt's,  and  that  shrewd  person  saw  her  thought 
in  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Susan,  "I've  a 
box  of  chocolates  in  my  satchel.'' 

"  I  know  the  eight  Beatitudes,"  replied 
Anna,  with  pardonable  pride,  "  and  you  pro- 
mised me  a  doll's  tea-set  if  I  learned  them." 

Aunt  Susan  laughed.  "Very  well,"  she 
said  ;  "  now  I  must  run  up  to  see  your  mother. 
Keep  this  satchel,  Rose  ;  but  don't  open  it  yet." 

"Oh,  this  is  just  lovely,"  cried  Rose.  "I 
hoped  and  hoped  that  Aunt  Susan  would  come 
soon.  And  on  a  rainy  day,  too.  It  is  just 
lovely  ! ' 

Cecilia  wiped  her  eyes  and  snuffled.  "I  am 
always  the  dissolute  one  ;  if  anybody  is  to  be 
ostrich-eyed,  I  am  ostrich-eyed." 

Rose  was  accustomed  both  to  Cecilia's  tear- 
ful moods  and  her  habit  of  using  words  she 
had  caught  up  without  knowing  their  meaning. 
She  meant  "  desolate"  and  "ostracized." 

"Is  Cecilia  ostrich-eyed?"  asked  Anna. 
"Am  I  ostrich-eyed,  too?"  And  the  little 
girl  stood  on  tiptoe  to  look  at  herself  in  the 
tilted  mirror  over  the  mantel-piece. 

"  You  are  not  old  enough  to  understand  yet, 
poor  dear,"  said  Rose. 


190  STORIES  AND    SKETCHES. 

"  She  kissed  you  first  and  promised  Anna  a 
doll's  tea-set.  She  scarcely  noticed  me.  She 
told  Anna  she  had  chocolates  in  her  bag,  too, 
and  gave  you  the  satchel.  Xobody  loves  me 
because  I  am  the  black  swan  of  the  family." 

' '  I  love  you  !  we  love  you  ! " 

And  the  two  little  girls  hugged  their  sister 
enthusiastically. 

Aunt  Susan  entered  the  room  at  this  mo- 
ment, like  a  spring  breeze. 

"Your  mother  is  better,"  she  said,  smiling. 
"Now  you  shall  open  the  satchel,  and  guess 
the  news  I  have  to  tell  you." 

"I  know  the  eight  Beatitudes,"  said  Anna 
again,  curling  herself  on  the  sofa  next  to  Aunt 
Susan. 

Aunt  Susan  laughed.  "Right  through 
without  stopping?" 

Anna  repeated  them  without  a  blunder. 

"Good,  little  girl!"  Then  she  opened  the 
satchel  slowly  and  ceremoniously.  It  was  an 
ordinary-looking  alligator-skin  bag,  but  it 
seemed  to  hold  endless  treasures.  There  were 
pink,  green,  and  blue  needle-cases,  three  boxes 
of  candy,  a  tiny  porcelain  doll's  tea-set 
wrapped  in  cotton,  three  little  gold  medals  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  three  story-books,  two 


WHAT   THEY   FOUND    IN   THE    COUNTRY.     191 

pen-wipers  with  figures  of  little  chickens  upon 
them,  and  three  large  doughnuts. 

Anna's  eyes  danced  with  delight. 

Cecilia  seemed  pleased,  too,  until  Aunt 
Susan  drew  out  a  sheet  of  music,  "The  Happy 
Farmer." 

"This  is  for  Rose  to  play." 

Cecilia  turned  away  from  her  share  of  the 
gifts.  Rose  always  had  more  than  she  !  To 
be  sure  her  box  of  candy  was  the  biggest,  but 
then  Hose  had  the  piece  of  music. 

She  left  her  gifts  on  the  sofa  and  went  into 
a  corner  and  sulked. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Cecilia?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  Aunt  Susan." 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"Nothing  at  all." 

"Tell  me,"  said  Aunt  Susan,  coaxingly. 
"Are  you  sick?" 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  Cecilia.  "Only  I'm 
nobody.  Everybody  is  better  treated  than  I 
am.  But  then  I  can't  play,  like  Rose,  and  I'm 
not  pretty,  like  Anna.  I'm  only  a  half-orphan, 
with  nobody  to  love  me." 

Aunt  Susan  was  puzzled.  She  was  too  open 
and  sunny-hearted  herself  to  understand  the 
"sulks "in  other  people.  Not  knowing  what 


192  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

to  say,  she  was  silent.  She  looked  at  Rose, 
half  expecting  her  to  give  up  her  piece  of 
music  to  Cecilia. 

"  Cecilia  is  often  this  way,"  said  Anna.  "/ 
wouldn't  give  her  anything  of  mine." 

"No,"  said  Rose,  devouring  her  caramels 
without  offering  them  to  the  others.  "I 
wouldn't  cither.  We  don't  get  presents  often. 
We  always  keep  all  we  get." 

Aunt  Susan's  heart  sank.  The  children  — 
nice  children  they  seemed,  too -r- were  entirely 
wrapped  up  in  themselves. 

Mrs.  Desmond  had  been  obliged  to  leave 
them  so  much  to  themselves,  and  not  having 
seen  them  for  a  year,  she  knew  she  was  to 
find  them  less  perfect  than  she  had  imagined 
them  to  be.  Nevertheless,  she  was  rather 
shocked  to  find  them  all  so  selfish. 

' '  Suppose  I  had  given  your  candy  to  a  poor 
little  girl  I  saw  on  the  train,  as  I  came  from 
Boston  !  She  was  dressed  in  black,  and  she 
looked  so  sad,  that  I  was  almost  tempted  to 
give  her  Rose's  caramels." 

"/would  not  have  cared,  so  that  you  did 
not  give  mine  away,"  said  Anna. 

"  I'm  glad  you  did  not  do  it,"  exclaimed 
Rose.  "I  think  you  might  give  us  Cecilia's 
candy,  Aunt  Susan.  She  is  not  eating  it." 


WHAT    THEY  FOUND   IN  THE    COUNTRY.    193 

Cecilia  hurled  herself  from  her  corner,  and 
defiantly  possessed  herself  of  the  rejected 
gifts. 

What  shall  I  do  with  them?  asked  their 
aunt  of  herself.  She  had  promised  their 
mother  that  she  would  take  them  into  the 
country. 

"  Children,"  she  said,  gravely,  "I  want  you 
to  try  to  think  more  of  others.  Do  you  think 
the  Holy  Child  ever  thought  much  of  Himself 
and  His  own  wants.  I  will  tell  you  some 
pleasant  news  if  you  will  try  to  be  more  like 
Him."  Then,  very  timidly,  for  Aunt  Susan 
had  little  confidence  in  herself  as  a  manager 
of  children,  she  told  them  of  the  childhood  of 
Our  Lord. 

"And  now,  little  nieces,"  she  added,  "I 
may  as  well  tell  you  that  your  mother  has 
promised  to  let  you  go  to  Idlewild  with  me 
for  three  months." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Oh — h — h — h!"  cried  the  children. 

"We  shall  fish  !"  said  Anna. 

"And  see  the  dear  little  cows!"  exclaimed 
Rose. 

' '  And  swing  in  the  apple  orchard  ! "  cried 
Cecilia.  "Oh,  rny!" 


194  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

In  the  middle  of  a  torrent  of  exclamations, 
the  dinner-bell  rang. 


IV. 

May  had  come  in  before  Aunt  Susan  and 
the  children  were  ready  to  start  for  Idle  wild. 

Idle  wild  was  near  the  sea.  It  was  a  small 
country  village  surrounded  by  farms.  There 
were  many  beautiful  bits  of  scenery  around 
the  place.  There  was  one  in  particular  on 
Aunt  Susan's  father's  farm,  which  was  par- 
ticularly lovely.  Three  old  oaks  stood  close 
together  in  a  grassy  nook,  stretching  out  their 
boughs  to  a  group  of  younger  trees  wreathed 
with  climbing  vines.  Thus  a  glimpse  of  the 
blue  waters  of  the  bay  was  framed.  Here  on 
the  soft  grass,  which  in  the  spring  was  fringed 
with  early,  scentless  violets,  in  the  summer  by 
tall  daisies,  and  in  the  autumn  by  red-leaved 
blackberry-bushes,  Aunt  Susan  loved  to  say 
her  rosary  quietly,  and  then  to  read  or  to  sew. 
"Here,"  she  had  said  to  herself,  "I  shall  tell 
the  children  stories  every  evening,  if  tho 
weather  is  fair.  It  shall  be  the  children's 


WHAT   THEY   FOUND    IN   THE    COUNTRY.    195 

spot,  and  the  children's  hour  shall  be  when  the 
Angelas  rings  from  the  chapel  over  the  bay." 

Aunt  Susan  was  able  to  do  this  later;  but 
she  had  by  that  time  discovered  that  her  nieces 
needed  some  discipline  before  they  were  ready 
to  become  like  the  little  angels  she  thought 
they  ought  to  be. 

During  her  stay  in  the  house  with  them  —  a 
period  reaching  through  the  month  of  April  — 
she  became  convinced  that  they  had  been 
"spoiled"  by  having  been  kept  too  much  in 
their  own  little  circle.  They  had  always  had 
everything  they  wanted,  and  they  could  not 
understand  the  possibility  of  anybody  needing 
anything.  They  were  rapidly  becoming  self- 
ish ;  and  the  over-indulgence  of  their  old  nurse 
helped  to  make  them  think  that  so  long  as  they 
were  comfortable,  nobody  could  suffer. 

Aunt  Susan  was  amazed  by  their  unconscious 
selfishness.  She  felt  very  unequal  to  dealing 
with  it.  When  she  spoke  of  it  to  Mrs.  Des- 
mond, the  latter  only  smiled,  and  said  that  old 
maids'  children  were  the  only  perfect  ones  in 
the  world. 

Aunt  Susan  said  nothing  to  Mrs.  Desmond 
after  that.  She  spoke  frequently  of  the  life 
of  the  Holy  Child,  and  tried  to  teach  them  by 


196  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

example  rather  than  precept.  She  soon  saw, 
however,  that  they  were  willing  to  accept  her 
services  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  that  the 
more  she  gave  them,  the  more  they  expected. 

On  the  first  of  May,  Aunt  Susan  and  the 
children,  after  a  day  of  delightful  excitement 
and  bustle,  reached  the  station  at  Idle  wild. 

They  were  in  the  country  at  last.  The  sea 
sparkled  in  the  noon-day  sun,  as  if  some  giant 
had  thrown  handfuls  of  jewels  into  the  waves. 
The  children  first  saw  it  through  the  pink  and 
white  boughs  of  the  peach,  pear,  and  apple- 
trees  of  their  grandfather's  orchard.  The  per- 
fume of  the  blossoms,  drifting  in  the  fresh 
breeze  under  the  clear  blue  sky,  was  delicious. 
Sir  Walter,  the  young  Alderney  bull,  was  tied 
to  a  gnarled  old  apple  tree,  and  out  from  the 
barn  came  running  Aunt  Susan's  pet  lamb. 
Rose  was  wild  with  delight  Avhen  it  came  up  to 
her,  not  at  all  frightened. 

"  Even  the  lamb  loves  her  better  than  me," 
said  Cecilia,  bursting  into  tears.  "  I  am  only 
an  outcast.  I  believe  I  am  a  changeling,  and 
that  mamma  only  adopted  me." 

Aunt  Susan  laughed.  "  Perhaps  you  ii!e:iu 
a  foundling,  Cecilia  dear.  Don't  use  words 
you  cannot  understand.  How  lonely  the  old 


WHAT   THEY  FOUND   IN    THE    COUNTRY.    197 

farm  will  bo  without  your  grandfather.  He 
will  sail  from  Liverpool  on  the  first  of  June. 
I  do  wish  he  were  here  —  dear,  dear  father ! 
How  do  you  do,  Dick?" 

Dick  was  a  little  colored  boy.  He  grinned 
at  the  little  girls,  and  touched  his  cap  to  Aunt 
Susan. 

"Please,  miss,"  he  said,  "Mom  says  that 
little  Plato  Socrates  hab  de  scarlet  fever,  and 
she's  afeard  for  you  or  de  young  misses  to  come 
near  de  house.  Mom  sent  me  and  my  brudder 
down  to  Uncle  Seth's  this  mornin',  but  she  tole 
me  to  hang  around  'bout  train-time  and  tell 
you." 

Dick  was  Mom  Johnston's  son.  Mom  John- 
ston took  charge  of  the  house  in  Aunt  Susan's 
and  her  uncle's  absence. 

After  a  shower  of  questions  and  answers, 
Aunt  Susan  concluded  to  take  the  children 
down  to  Allenville,  one  station  below.  She 
would  leave  them  there  at  the  convent  school, 
and  return  to  see  what  could  be  done  for  little 
Plato  Socrates  Johnston. 

The  down  train  was  almost  due.  Aunt  Su- 
san, leaving  the  trunks  at  the  station  in  charge 
of  Dick,  entered  the  train,  which  rushed  in 


the  station. 


198  STORIES   AND    SKETCHES. 

The  children  enjoyed  these  sudden  changes 
very  much.  It  was  a  long  time  since  they  had 
had  any  excitement  of  the  kind. 


V. 

"  Oh.  dear  ! "  cried  Aunt  Susan,  as  soon  as 
they  were  seated;  "I  have  left  the  satchel 
with  your  night-gowns  in  it.  Wait  till  I  conic 
back  ! " 

And  .she  hastened  from  the  car.  A  fresh, 
pleasant,  stout  woman  who  sat  next  to  Rose 
seemed  to  gain  decision  from  Aunt  Susan's 
action.  She  had  looked  puzzled  and  anxious. 

"  Little  girl,"  she  said  to  Rose,  "  will  you 
hold  my  baby,  while  I  go  out  to  the  station 
and  buy  some  crackers.  I  guess  I'll  have  as 
much  time  as  the  lady  who  has  just  gone  out. 
Baby's  hungry." 

Rose  might  have  said,  "  We  have  some 
crackers  in  our  bag."  But  she  was  not  ac- 
customed to  offering  courtesies  to  strangers. 
The  ' '  baby  "  —  a  little  girl  of  about  two  years 
old  —  was  put  Jnto  her  lap,  and  its  mother 
followed  Aunt  Susan. 


WHAT   THEY  FOUND    IN   THE    COUNTRY.     199 

This  "baby"  had  big  blue  eyes,  "bangs"  cut 
on  its  forehead,  fat  hands,  and  a  pretty  smile. 

"  Oh,  how  '  cunning  ! ' "  cried  Cecilia.  "  Do 
let  me  hold  her." 

But  Rose  held  fast  to  the  little  fat  thing, 
wrapped  in  a  heavy  blue  cloak.  "  No,  her 
mother  gave  her  to  me." 

"But  she  laughed  at  me"  said  Anna.  "I 
want  her." 

"Of  course,  I'm  nobody!"  After  a  short 
pause,  "  Why,  we're  moving  !  " 

And  so  they  were  ! 

The  trees  and  fences  seemed  to  be  running 
past  them  faster  and  faster. 

Cecilia  and  Anna  looked  at  Rose  with 
affrighted  eyes. 

Rose  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  "Aunt 
Susan  will  meet  us  at  the  next  station.  I  have 
the  tickets." 

How  Aunt  Susan  was  to  get  there  to  meet 
them  she  did  not  know.  She  was  sure,  how- 
ever, that  Aunt  Susan  would  be  there.  Every- 
body in  the  car  was  busy  with  his  newspaper, 
his  thoughts,  or  his  neighbor's  talk.  The  con- 
ductor, used  to  seeing  children  travel  from  one 
country  station  to  another,  took  up  their  tick- 
ets without  giving  them  especial  attention. 


200  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"  Allenville  ! " 

"  Allenville  !  "  echoed  the  brakeman. 

It  was  a  large  town.  The  delight  of  minding 
the  baby  had  occupied  the  children  up  to  this 
time.  The  cars  stopped.  Nobody  got  on  or 
off. 

"  The  next  station  will  do  as  well,"  said 
Rose,  in  a  superior  manner. 

Taylorville  was  the  next  stop.  It  was  al- 
most a  city.  They  got  out  at  Taylorville.  The 
conductor  told  them  to  take  the  next  train  back 
to  Allenville. 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
when  they  entered  the  station. 

"  I  will  not  mind  the  conductor,"  Rose  said. 
"  I'll  just  buy  some  pop-corn  for  the  baby,  and 
wait  here  until  Aunt  Sue  and  its  mother 
come." 

The  "  baby,"  who  could  speak  almost  plain, 
said  her  name  was  "  Gracie."  What  an  ex- 
haustless  fund  of  joy  she  was  to  the  children. 
She  did  not  seem  to  miss  her  mother.  She 
smiled  and  made  dimples  in  her  cheeks,  cracked 
the  pop-corn  between  her  little  teeth,  and  was 
very  charming  to  the  children.  The  station, 
a  frame  box,  heated  by  a  big  stove,  became 
too  hot.  Rose  proposed  to  take  a  walk.  It 


WHAT    THEY   FOUND   IN   THE    COUNTRY.    201 

was  a  new  surprise  and  joy  to  see  "  Gracie  " 
walk.  She  trotted  along  gaily.  For  the  first 
time  the  children  were  unselfishly  happy. 

"  Oh,  how  I  do  love  a  real  meat  baby,"  said 
Anna.  "  I  am  so  tired  of  sawdust  babies." 

The  weather  was  warm  and  pleasant.  The 
station  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 
Before  they  were  aware  of  it,  they  had  gone 
some  distance  into  the  open  lots,  whose  level 
space  was  only  broken  by  the  high  chimneys 
of  factories.  A  light,  here  and  there,  appeared 
in  the  gray  landscape. 

"Why  doesn't  Aunt  Susan  come?"  asked 
Anna,  whose  little  legs  were  tired.  It  oc- 
curred to  Rose  that  it  was  time  to  go  back  to 
the  station. 

The  "baby"  refused  to  walk.  She  said,  in 
her  funny  little  way,  that  her  foot  was  "  thore." 

Rose  tried  to  carry  her.  Then  Cecilia  took 
a  turn.  It  grew  darker.  Anna  began  to  cry 
and  wanted  to  be  carried  too. 

A  fresh  wind  sprung  up.  The  road  was  full 
of  puddles  and  stones.  Anna  dragged  on  to 
Cecilia's  hand.  Rose  stumbled  onward  with 
Gracie,  who  bawled  at  the  top  of  her  voice. 
Night  had  come.  It  was  a  foggy  night,  too. 
The  children  could  not  see  one  step  ahead  of 


202  STORIES   AND    SKETCHES. 

them.  In  despair,  Rose  sat  down  on  the  side 
of  the  road.  The  others  sat  down  beside  her. 

"Cecilia,  we  are  the  eldest,"  murmured 
Rose,  who  was  so  frightened  by  the  cold  and 
the  darkness,  that  she  could  scarcely  speak. 
""NVe  must  take  care  of  these  children." 

"Do  you  really  think  that  I  can  be  of  use?" 
asked  Cecilia,  glad,  in  spite  of  all,  to  be  made 
a  person  of  importance.  "I — I  mean  the 
children — are  so  hungry." 

They  were  all  hungry,  the  crackers  having 
disappeared  long  ago.  They  huddled  close 
together  on  a  flat  stone,  with  the  "baby"  and 
Anna  in  the  middle.  The  "baby,"  wrapped 
in  her  warm  cloak  was  asleep. 

"I  wish  I  had  some  bread,  without  butter 
or  sugar,"  sobbed  Anna. 

"This  is  the  way  poor  people  feel.  How  I 
pity  them  !"  said  Rose.  "  Oh,  Cecilia,  just  to 
think  how  warm  we  have  been  kept,  and  how 
cold  the  poor  are  ! " 

"And  how  hungry  !"  echoed  Cecilia. 

"Poor  little  baby!"  said  Rose,  shivering. 
"I  will  put  my  silk  handkerchief  around  its 
neck.  The  Holy  Child  likes  us  to  be  kind  to 
babies." 

And  they  said  their  prayers,  and  felt  that 


WHAT   THEY   FOUND    IN   THE   COUNTRY.    203 

the  Holy  Child  would  surely  send  Aunt  Susan. 
Then  they  fell  asleep. 

The  light  of  a  dark  lantern  was  cast  in  all 
directions.  Two  policemen  were  walking 
slowly  along  the  road  in  search  of  something. 

Suddenly  the  light  flashed  under  Rose's 
eyelids. 

She  started  up.  "You  shan't  take  the  baby 
or  Anna,"  she  cried. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had  thought 
of  somebody  in  preference  to  herself ! 

"  Here  they  are,  Joe  !"  cried  the  policeman, 
laughing.  ' '  The  little  vagabonds  ! " 

Aunt  Susan  and  the  distracted  mother,  left 
at  Idlewild,  had  telegraphed  to  Allcnville,  but 
through  some  mistake  the  message  was  sent  to 
Allentown,  three  stations  beyond.  Telegrams 
were  then  ^ent  by  the  railroad  men  to  Taylor- 
ville ;  and,  after  some  delay,  the  children  were 
restored  to  Aunt  Susan  and  the  baby  to  its 
mother. 

When  Plato  Socrates  had  recovered  from 
the  scarlet  fever,  the  three  children  and  Aunt 
Susan  went  back  to  Idlewild. 

One  June  day,  as  Aunt  Susan  sat  under  the 
oaks,  with  Cecilia  and  Anna  climbing  about 
her,  Cecilia  said  — 


204  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"I  know  what  you  meant,  aunt,  when  you 
said  I  would  always  be  cross  and  disagreeable 
until  I  learned  how  to  help  other  people.  I 
know  now  how  poor  little  children  have  to 
suffer.  I  think  the  Holy  Child  is  very  good 
to  us." 

"Yes,  Aunt  Susan,  I  think  so  too,"  cried 
Rose,  who  was  feeding  her  lamb  some  distance 
away  from  them. 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Aunt  Susan,  making  a 
little  prayer  of  thanksgiving. 


BIANCA. 


BIANCA  MALATESTA  was  never  idle. 
She  was  just  thirteen  years  of  age  ;  but 
she  could  not  remember  when  she  had  not 
worked.  She  lived  in  a  beautiful  country,  at 
Sorrento,  in  Sicily,  where  oranges  and  orange- 
blossoms  are  as  common  as  apples  and  apple- 
blossoms  here. 

In  spite  of  all  the  beauty  of  the  place,  life 
was  not  easy.  Bianca's  brothers,  except  one, 
Giovanni,  had  been  forced  into  the  Italian 
army.  Bianca's  parents  were  dead,  and  she 
and  Giovanni,  managed  the  little  farm.  If 
the  two  brothers  were  only  back,  she  often 
thought,  how  easy  the  work  would  be,  how 
happy  life  would  seem  ! 

'•We  cannot  have  all  things,  my  daughter," 
said  Father  Caracci.  "If  we  were  truly  happy 
here,  we  would  never  want  to  go  to  Heaven." 

When  the  good  priest  laid  his  hand  on  her 
205 


206  STO1UE8    AND    SKETCHES. 

head,  Bianca  felt  comforted.  Giovanni  and 
she  had  at  least  one  friend  in  the  world. 

Times  were  hard.  The  rulers  of  Italy  are 
no  longer  friends  of  the  poor.  They  spend 
large  sums  of  money  in  building  clumsj''  war- 
vessels,  while  the  poor  have  to  work  their 
lingers  to  the  bone  to  pay  the  taxes  which 
such  extravagances  entail  on  them.  In  con- 
sequence, many  poor  Italians,  formerly  pros- 
perous, are  beggars.  And  yet  we  hear  people 
talk  as  if  things  in  Italy  had  improved  since 
Victor  Emanuel  robbed  the  Holy  Father.  In 
truth,  things  have  not  improved.  The  poor 
suffer  and  are  ground  down.  Sunny  Italy  is 
losing  its  sunshine,  for  joy  has  left  the  hearts 
and  faces  of  the  poor. 

One  day,  in  the  orange-picking  season,  when 
everybody  was  busy,  Giovanni  caught  a  fever. 
Father  Caracci,  who  was  something  of  a  doctor, 
shook  his  head  when  he  came.  Giovanni  was 
a  good  boy ;  he  did  not  fear  death ,  but  he 
feared  to  leave  his  sister  Bianca,  his  "dear 
little  sister !  And  the  oranges  still  on  the 
trees,  the  taxes  so  high,  and  nobody  to  work 
the  farm." 

"Trust  Bianca  with  God  and  His  Blessed 
Mother,"  said  Father  Caracci.  "They  will 


BIANCA.  207 

take  care  of  her.  Don't  trouble  yourself 
about  the  oranges." 

Father  Caracci  knew  well  how  to  console 
the  frank,  kind  boy,  Giovanni ;  and  he  died 
full  of  faith,  hope,  and  charity.  Father  Caracci 
found  it  harder  to  console  Bianca.  She  felt 
herself  to  be  all  alone  in  the  world.  She 
struggled  on  bravely ;  but  the  willing  hearts 
and  strong  hands  that  would  have  helped  her 
were  wasting  away  in  the  barracks,  and  poor 
Bianca  had  to  work  for  herself,  with  an  occa- 
sional lift  from  a  neighbor ;  but,  as  a  rule,  the 
neighbors  had  enough  to  do  to  work  for  them- 
selves. 

Bianca  struggled  bravely.  She  had  little 
time  to  knit  now.  The  work  of  the  vineyard 
and  the  little  orange  grove  fell  to  her.  Early 
and  late  she  toiled  in  the  fields,  scarcely  paus- 
ing a  moment.  It  was  all  useless.  The  tax- 
gatherer  came  several  times,  and  one  day  the 
little  farm  was  sold.  Bianca  was  homeless. 

The  blow  struck  at  her  heart.  After  all  the 
debts  were  paid,  a  very  small  bundle  of  neces- 
sary things  and  very  little  money  were  left  for 
Bianca.  She  could  not  speak  to  any  human 
being  in  her  great  sorrow.  Her  home  was 
irone  !  jjone  !  The  dear  little  house  in  which 


208  STORIES  AND    SKETCHES. 

her  mother  and  father  had  said  the  Angelas  on 
so  many  happy  nights  was  gone  !  She  loved 
each  orange-tree  as  if  it  were  a  friend.  Whither 
could  she  go  ? 

Tears  blinded  her,  as  she  saw  the  old  house 
and  the  trees  swimming  before.  Whither  could 
she  go? 

The  only  place  open  to  her  seemed  to  be  the 
chapel  of  her  Mother.  With  the  tears  fast 
falling  from  her  eyes,  she  rushed  to  the  little 
village  church.  There,  before  the  statue  of 
Our  Blessed  Lady  —  an  old,  but  beloved 
statue,  decked  by  pious  peasants  with  silks 
and  jewels — she  poured  forth  her  sorrow. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  place  on  earth  for  her. 
Oh,  if  the  good  God  would  only  take  her  to 
Giovanni ! 

She  was  indeed  alone  in  the  world.  Her 
two  brothers,  Carlo  and  Pasquale,  would  not 
be  permitted  to  leave  the  army  until  after  the 
lapse  of  two  years. 

As  she  arose  from  her  knees,  she  saw  Father 
Caracci  waiting  for  her  at  the  door  of  the 
church. 

"Poor  Bianca."  he  said;  "you  are  very 
unhappy ;  but  what  are  your  sufferings  to 
those  of  Our  Lord." 


BIANCA.  209 

"I  have  no  home  Father,"  faltered  Bi- 
anca. 

"Our  Lord  had  no  place  to  lay  his  head, 
child." 

Bianca  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  she 
choked  down  a  sob.  "It  is  true,  Father. 
If  Giovanni  were  alive — oh,  if  Giovanni  were 
alive  ! " 

The  old  priest  laid  his  wrinkled  hand  on  her 
head.  "Look  at  poor  Beppo,  Bianca.  Poor 
Beppo  is  only  ten  years  old ;  his  father  and 
mother  died  last  month  of  the  fever.  His 
uncle  is  in  America,  and  he  wants  him  out 
there.  But  there  is  nobody  to  take  him. 
Think  of  it !  Poor  Beppo  must  go  out  to 
America,  where  it  is  cold]  he  must  leave  the 
orange-trees  and — " 

Bianca  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "What 
are  the  orange-trees  to  me  without  Giovanni?" 

"These  are  still  beautiful.  God  made  them, 
Bianca.  But  poor  Beppo  is  all  alone  ;  nobody 
is  going  to  America,  and  I  know  not  what  to 
do  with  the  poor  boy  until  some  one  will  care 
for  him.  I  cannot  send  him  alone  in  the  ship." 
And  Father  Caracci  sighed.  "Well,  Bianca, 
I  have  good  news  for  you.  The  Countess  Lilli 
wants  a  girl  in  her  kitchen,  to  peel  the  vege- 


210  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

tables  and  to  help  the  cook.  I  spoke  to  her 
about  you." 

Bianca's  cheeks  flushed.  "I  will  not  be  a 
servant,  Father.  I  worked  for  Giovanni ;  but 
now  that  he  is  dead,  I  will  not  work  in  any- 
body's kitchen." 

Father  Caracci  paused  in  surprise.  "This 
is  foolish  pride,  Bianca.  The  Countess  Lilli 
is,  as  everybody  knows  in  Sorrento,  a  good 
Christian,  and  consequently  a  kind  mistress." 

"I  will  not  be  a  servant,"  said  Bianca,  all 
her  grief  gone,  and  her  cheeks  flaming.  "None 
of  our  family  ever  served  in  the  kitchens  of 
others.  I  have  heard  my  father  say  so.  I 
would  work  for  you,  Father,  if  you  wanted 
me  in  your  kitchen,  but  for  no  other.  And 
you  do  not  want  me,  because  you  have  old 
Lorenzo  Pradi.  I  will  go  to  America  with 
Beppo.  There,  they  say,  one  does  not  have 
to  work  for  others.  There  everybody  is  free. 
They  are  not  Christians  there,"  cried  Bianca, 
in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm.  "I  will  convert 
them." 

Father  Caracci  shook  his  head  and  smiled 
slightly. 

"Pride,  Bianca,"  he  said,  "has  never  made 
a  convert.  There  are  some  very  good  Chris- 


BIANCA.  211 

tians,  my  child,  in  America.  People  have  to 
work  there  as  well  as  here." 

"  I  have  some  money.  I  will  go  with 
Beppo." 

Father  Caracci  thought  for  a  moment. 
Beppo's  uncle  was  a  good  man.  Perhaps  he 
could  find  something  for  Bianca  to  do  in  the 
new  country.  And  poor  Beppo  sadly  needed 
a  protector.  Bianca  was  not  much  older  than 
Beppo  ;  but  her  independent  and  healthy  mode 
of  life  had  given  her  the  prudence  arid  self- 
reliance  of  a  woman.  Beppo's  uncle  had  sent 
enough  money  to  pay  the  passage  of  the  person 
who  should  go  with  Beppo. 

"Well,  Bianca,  since  you  have  not  sufficient 
humility  to  serve  in  the  kitchen  of  the  Countess 
Lilli,  you  shall  go  to  America." 

"When?" 

"  Let  me  see.  On  Saturday  next  a  steamer 
leaves.  Be  ready  to-morrow ;  you  will  find 
poor  little  Beppo  up  in  my  house." 

Bianca  stood  a  moment  as  if  stunned ;  to 
tell  the  truth,  she  had  not  expected  to  be  taken 
at  her  word.  Well,  even  a  country  of  cold 
and  heretics  would  be  better  than  to  be  any- 
body's servant. 

Poor  Beppo  was  a  chubby  little  fellow ;  very 


212  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

lonely  in  the  priest's  large  empty  room.  He 
knew  Bianca,  and  he  ran  into  her  arms. 

The  Countess  Lilli  came  herself  to  ask 
Bianca,  whose  goodness  and  industry  was 
known,  to  take  service  in  her  household,  but 
Bianca  begged  to  be  excused.  On  Saturday, 
Bianca  and  Beppo  started  on  their  way  to  the 
new  world.  Father  Caracci  gave  them  his 
blessing,  and  he  said  to  Bianca  — 

"You  will  have  to  learn  to  be  a  servant. 
We  are  all  servants,  Bianca." 

Fortunately,  there  were  few  passengers  in 
the  steerage  when  Bianca  and  Beppo  made  the 
voyage,  and  the  steward,  who  also  was  an 
Italian  from  Sorrento,  kept  watch  over  the  two 
children  during  the  rough  passage. 

On  landing  in  New  York,  Bianca  and  Beppo 
were  taken  to  the  uncle,  who  lived,  with  his 
wife,  in  a  large  tenement-house.  He  was  not 
a  rich  man  by  any  means,  but  his  savings 
would  have  bought  the  Malatesta  farm  over 
and  over  again.  Bianca  could  not  understand 
why  he  should  live  in  such  a  dark  and  crowded 
place.  A  little  hut  in  Italy  among  the  orange- 
trees —  a  bed  in  the  fields  there — would  be 
better  than  this  ! 

Beppo's  uncle  smiled. 


BIANCA.  213 

"I  must  work,  Bianca  mia.  There  is  no 
work  for  me  in  Italy,  so  here  I  must  stay.  I 
must  find  a  place  for  you,  too." 

Bianca  said,  "I  will  not  stay." 

' '  Will  you  go  back  and  be  a  servant  in  the 
kitchen  of  the  Countess  Lilli?" 

"Never,"  said  Bianca;  "I  will  work  in  the 
fields,  but  I  cannot  be  a  servant,  to  be  ordered 
about  by  everybody." 

Beppo  was  very  fond  of  Bianca,  and  the 
uncle,  Avho  had  no  children,  was  delighted  to 
have  Beppo  with  him.  Although  Bianca's 
pride  made  the  uncle  indignant,  yet  he  took  a 
great  interest  in  her. 

Bianca  was  always  busy ;  she  would  knit 
from  morning  to  night,  but  she  wanted  to  do 
only  what  she  pleased.  Beppo's  uncle  took 
her  to  his  fruit  stand  down  town,  where  she 
could  have  been  very  useful,  as  she  learned  the 
name  and  value  of  American  currency  very 
quickly ;  but  Bianca  would  not  stay  in  one 
place  all  day.  She  wanted  to  work  in  a  vine- 
yard, as  she  had  done  in  Italy. 

"But  there  are  no  vineyards,"  said  the  uncle. 

Poor  Bianca  became  very  homesick.  Noth- 
ing but  bricks  and  mortar,  dingy  crowds  of 
people,  and  work  in  close  rooms. 


214  STORIES  AND  SKETCHES. 


"Some  day, "the  uncle  said,  "I  will  go  back 
to  Italy,  and  buy  a  little  farm.  Then  I  will 
enjoy  what  I  have  worked  for.  That  is  the 
reason  I  work  so  hard.  If  you,  Bianca,  would 
go  back  to  Sorrento,  you  must  do  what  you 
can  get  to  do.  Here,  in  this  country,  '  the 
poor  man  who  chooses  loses.' " 

Little  Beppo  did  not  like  the  new  country  at 
all.  It  was  cold.  He  could  not  see  the  soft, 
blue  water.  There  were  no  statues  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  or  the  Saints  in  the  streets. 
He  could  not  understand  it  at  all.  Bianca  was 
his  only  consolation. 

Place  after  place  was  found  for  Bianca.  She 
would  not  learn  to  make  artificial  flowers,  be- 
cause the  room  in  which  they  were  made  was 
too  close ;  she  became  impatient  when  the 
foreman  of  a  manufactory  tried  to  teach  her 
how  to  pour  chocolate  drops  into  the  moulds. 
She  wanted  to  work  in  the  fields.  She  hated 
the  city.  Beppo's  uncle  hated  the  city  too ; 
but  he  stayed  in  it  because  his  work  was  in  it 
But  Bianca  could  not  understand  this. 

At  last  Beppo's  uncle  wrote  back  to  Father 
Caracci,  who,  in  reply,  said  that  Bianca  ought 
to  do  what  her  hand  found  to  do.  "Be  faith- 
ful, be  careful  of  the  small  things  that  fall  in 


BIANCA.  215 

your  way,  and  God  will  be  pleased  to  reward 
you  for  it  even  in  this  world.  Remember  that 
the  best  thing  you  can  do  in  your  state  of  life 
is  to  work  contentedly  at  whatever  God  sends 
you  to  do." 

But  in  spite  of  this  Bianca  wanted  to  have 
her  own  way.  She  would  do  nothing,  except 
what  she  liked  to  do.  She  helped  Beppo's 
aunt  with  the  housework  very  willingly,  but 
then  Beppo's  aunt  did  not  need  help.  "You 
must  earn  your  living,"  said  the  aunt,  good- 
naturedly.  "  There  is  always  enough  maca- 
roni for  you  here,  because  Beppo  loves  you ; 
but  what  will  you  do  when  we  go  away  ?  You 
must  learn  to  work  for  others,  like  the  rest  of 
us.  If  you  do  not  you  will  not  have  enough 
money  to  get  back  to  Italy." 

"  I  hate  the  city,"  said  Bianca,  sullenly. 
"  I  want  to  go  back  to  Sorrento." 

"  And  serve  in  the  kitchen  of  the  Countess 
Lilli?" 

"  No." 

Beppo's  aunt  sighed. 

"  You  cannot,  Bianca  mia,  have  your  melon 
and  eat  it,  too." 

Bianca  was  stubborn. 

Two  years  went  by.     Beppo  went  to  school, 


216  STOKIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

and  Bianca,  in  spite  of  all  warnings,  would  not 
work  at  the  occupations  of  the  Italians  around 
her.  She  said : 

"I  am  no  slave.  I  will  not  submit  to  be 
told  '  do  this,'  '  do  that '  by  everybody." 

"  '  Blessed  are  the  meek,' "  said  Beppo's  aunt, 
in  Italian,  "  '  for  they  shall  possess  the  land.' 
We  who  are  poor  must  endure  much  in  silence. 
It  is  for  the  glory  of  God." 

Bianca  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  began 
to  talk  English  with  Beppo. 

"  You  like-a  school-a?" 

"  Ees  —  si  —  si!"  said  Beppo. 

The  conversation  here  closed.  Bianca's  Eng- 
lish words  were  exhausted. 

One  evening,  just  as  the  steaming  dish  of 
macaroni  was  placed  on  the  table,  and  Beppo's 
aunt  had  put  a  small  bottle  of  light  wine  before 
her  husband,  he  took  Beppo  on  his  knee,  and 
said,  "  Now  we  shall  go  back  to  Italy." 

"  To  Italy  !  "  cried  his  wife. 

"  To  Italy?"  screamed  Bianca. 

"/Si,  si!"  cried  Beppo's  uncle.  "I  have 
worked  hard,  and  Giovanni  Tosti,  to  whom  I 
lent  some  money,  paid  it  back  with  interest 
to-day.  Besides  that,  I  have  enough  in  the 
bank  to  buy  a  farm  and  never  to  be  afraid  of 
the  taxes." 


BIANCA.  217. 

Beppo  clapped  his  hands.  He  had  worked 
too  ;  he  had  sold  papers  after  school-hours  and 
saved  every  cent. 

"  Thanks  to  the  Mother  of  God,  who  never 
ceases  to  pray  for  us  ! "  cried  Beppo. 

"  Ah,  yes,  we  have  worked,"  Beppo's  uncle 
said,  looking  at  his  wife  affectionately ; 
"  worked  in  the  cold  and  storm,  in  the  heat, 
against  discouragements  and  hopelessness." 

"  And  the  Pagans  that  call  Italians  '  dagos,'" 
cried  Bianca,  recalling  certain  battles  at  the 
fruit-stand. 

"  We  have  had  our  troubles,"  said  Beppo's 
uncle ;  "we  have  been  frugal ;  if  we  drink 
wine  to-night,  it  is  the  first  time  in  many 
years.  We  can  forget  all,  except  the  joy  of 
going  home." 

Bianca  was  radiant. 

"  Oh,  how  I  long  to  see  Sorrento  again.  My 
brothers  will  soon  be  out  of  the  army  !  " 

"  Are  you  going?"  asked  Beppo's  uncle. 

Biauca  was  silent.  She  had  earned  no 
money.  She  had  followed  her  own  will.  She 
turned  red. 

"  It  will  be  hard  for  you,  Bianca,"  said 
Beppo's  aunt.  "  You  will  have  no  home  now. 
The  fruit-stand  might  have  been  yours,  if  you 


218  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

had  worked  for  it ;  but  it  now  belongs  to  Gio- 
vani  Tosti,  wrho  came  here  when  you  came." 

Bianca  began  to  cry. 

"  The  baker  at  the  corner  wants  a  young 
girl  to  help  his  wife  in  the  kitchen,"  said  Bep- 
po's  uncle,  gravely.  "  I  have  promised  that 
you  shall  go  there." 

Bianca  began  to  cry. 

"Why,"  said  Beppo,  who  had  not  been  at- 
tending to  the  talk,  "  why  do  you  weep  when 
we  are  all  going  back  to  beautiful  Italy  ?  " 

This  caused  Bianca  to  cry  afresh.  Beppo's 
uncle  and  aunt  looked  at  each  other.  What 
could  they  do  ? 

"  I  will  go  too ;  I  will  be  a  servant  in  Italy 
to  the  Countess  Lilli." 

"  It  is  too  late,"  said  Beppo's  uncle.  "  The 
Countess  Lilli  died  six  months  ago.  Surely  I 
read  it  to  you  from  Father  Caracci's  letter." 

Bianca  wrung  her  hands.  She  flung  herself 
on  the  floor  in  bitterness.  Oh,  how  she  re- 
gretted her  wilfulness.  To  see  them  all  —  all 
whom  she  loved  —  go  to  sunny  Italy  and  leave 
her  among  strangers.  HOWT  bitterly  had  she 
been  punished  !  It  was  too  late  now. 


BIANCA.  219 

On  a  sunny  May  day  the  steamer  sailed 
down  the  bay,  carrying  Beppo  and  his  uncle 
and  aunt.  Bianca  stood  on  the  dock,  weeping 
bitterly.  She  was  alone  ;  now  she  must  work 
for  another,  whether  she  would  or  not. 


Three  years  passed.  Bianca  learned  to  be 
content.  She  spent  much  of  her  spare  time  in 
the  church,  praying  for  meekness.  She  neg- 
lected nothing  that  was  given  her  to  do.  Her 
care  was  noticed  by  her  employers  and  others, 
and  gained  her  the  reward  which  patient  in- 
dustry always  gains.  One  morning  she  bought 
a  ticket  at  the  offices  of  a  steamship  company. 
She  had  saved  enough  to  take  her  home  and  to 
leave  her  something  over,  for  in  Italy  money 
is  scarce,  and  a  little,  which  is  hard  to  get,  ap- 
pears a  great  deal. 

When  she  reached  Sorrento,  Father  Caracci 
met  her  with  a  smile. 

"  What  have  you  lost,  Bianca?" 

"  Pride  and  stubbornness." 

"  Then,"  said  the  priest,  "  you  have  gained 
much." 

Bianca's  earnings  helped  her  brothers  to  get 
a  small  vineyard  when  they  came  out  of  the 


220  STORIES    AM)    SKETCHES. 

army ;  and  now  the  three  are  very  happy  to- 
gether. 

The  moral  of  my  story  is  : 

Do  well  whatever  you  can  get  to  do,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  God. 


A   VACATION    TALK. 


HE  vacation  days  have  come  at  last !  For 
the  last  two  weeks  you  have  been  count- 
ing the  days  to  come,  as  the  writer  used  to 
do.  Suddenly — for  all  pleasant  things  come 
suddenly,  no  matter  how  long  we  have  ex- 
pected them — the  days  of  June  pass  into  the 
more  glowing  hours  of  July,  and  the  schools 
of  children  are  set  free  ! 

No  more  watching  a  waving  bough  through 
the  school-house  window  and  wishing  you  were 
the  bird  upon  it.  No  more  hoping  that  the 
clock  would  go  faster  and  bring  nearer  the 
hour  of  "letting  out."  No  more  lagging  steps 
to  school ! 

Of  course  you  enjoy  your  freedom  now,  and 

the  world   seems   made   for  you.     The   roses 

bloom,  the  raspberries  hide  in  the  bushes,  just 

peeping  out  to  see  that  you  are  coming,  the 

221 


222  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

streams  are  warmed  for  swimming, — all  nature 
cries  welcome  ! 

But,  in  spite  of  this,  you  will  soon  grow 
weary,  if  you  accept  all  the  invitations  of  the 
time,  and  play  too  much.  "  All  work  and  no 
play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy,"  but  "all  play 
and  no  work"  makes  him  an  unhappy,  restless, 
and  discontented  boy.  Before  the  vacation 
days  are  over,  you  will  grow  weary  of  them, 
if  you  spend  your  time  in  play,  and,  while  you 
will  hate  to  go  back  to  school,  you  will  be  tired 
of  vacation. 

Do  not  throw  your  books  in  a  corner  and  let 
them  become  dusty.  Refresh  your  memory  by 
a  glance  into  your  geography  book,  or  into 
your  book  of  sums.  Ask  your  father  if  he  has 
any  bills  that  you  can  make  out.  Ask  your 
mother  if  she  has  any  wood  in  the  cellar  you 
can  cut  up  for  her.  Don't  wait  for  father  and 
mother  to  ask  you.  Remember  that  you  will 
enjoy  your  game  of  base-ball,  croquet,  or 
lawn-tennis  all  the  better  if  you  have  done 
some  earnest  work. 

And  don't  say  "to-morrow."  It  is  a  word 
that  kills  energy  and  good  work.  Protestants 
are  fond  of  saying  that  Spain  has  lost  her  force 
and  greatness  because  of  her  religion.  This  is 


A    VACATION    TALK.  223 

not  true.  The  Spaniards  of  to-day  say  "  to- 
morrow" too  much.  Everything  is  "manana." 
"To-morrow  —  to-morrow."  Don't  say  "I'll 
begin  to  look  over  my  lessons  to-morrow  ;  I 
will  learn  a  French  verb ;  I'll  make  sure  of 
my  Latin  declensions ;  I  will  do  a  sum  in 
addition  of  fractions  —  to-morrow!"  These 
to-morrows  seldom  come  ! 

Those  of  you  who  live  in  the  country  have 
an  open  book  before  you — the  book  of  nature. 
Like  the  melancholy  Jaques,  in  "As  You  Like 
It,"  you  may  find  "sermons  in  stones,"  if  you 
will.  With  a  book  on  botany  or  an  approved 
volume  on  geology,  you  may  find  profit  and 
pleasure  in  long  rambles,  besides  expanding 
your  lungs. 

A  learned  convert  to  the  Catholic  Church  — 
I  think  it  was  Professor  Haldemarm  —  was  once 
asked  what  let  him  into  the  Church.  He  said 
"bugs."  His  close  study  of  the  minor  creat- 
ures had  made  him  so  long  to  serve  God,  that 
he  was  led  into  the  only  road  to  Him  —  the 
Church. 

Now,  if  you  take  the  trouble  to  observe 
closely  the  small  things  around  you,  you,  too, 
will  be  charmed  by  the  graciousness  of  Our 
Lord.  You  will  find  many  reasons  for  loving 


224  STORIES  AND    SKETCHES. 

Him  which  might  have  escaped  you.  Besides, 
you  will  learn  facts  of  practical  value  which 
may  be  of  great  use  to  you  in  after  life. 

I  may  as  well  tell  you,  as  an  example  of  this, 
the  story  of  Ned  Acton.  Ned  Acton  was  a 
very  sick  boy.  He  could  not  run,  swim,  or 
play  ball,  like  other  boys.  He  used  to  sit  on 
his  father's  door-step  and  watch  the  other  boys 
play.  He  had  not  many  books  ;  but  one  day, 
in  an  old  "reader,"  he  read  the  dialogue  called 
"Eyes  and  No  Eyes."  It  is  all  about  two 
boys,  one  of  whom  sees  everything,  the  other 
sees  nothing. 

"Now,"  thought  Ned,  "why  should  I  not 
use  my  eyes,  since  they  are  stronger  than  my 
legs  and  arms  ?  " 

About  this  time,  Father  Ray,  the  rector  of 
the  church  in  Holston,  gave  him  some  books, 
one  of  them  being  a  book  on  geology.  It  was  a 
simple  text-book.  Ned  set  to  work  to  study  it. 

In  a  few  days  he  could  tell  the  names  of  the 
pebbles  and  pieces  of  rock  around  his  father's 
house.  The  desire  to  gain  new  knowledge  of 
rocks  and  stones  made  him  walk.  This 
strengthened  his  ankles.  In  a  short  time, 
armed  with  a  little  hammer  and  his  book  on 
geology,  he  took  long  rambles. 


A    VACATION    TALK.  225 

"It's  useless,"  his  father  said,  with  a  sigh, 
"but  it  amuses  the  poor  boy." 

Ned's  future  was  a  great  trouble  to  his  father 
— a  great  trouble.  He  was  not  rich  enough  to 
give  Ned  piano  or  organ  lessons.  But  he 
longed  to  give  him  some  means  of  making  a 
livelihood  in  the  future.  This  troubled  him 
night  and  day.  "Ah,"  he  often  said  to  his 
wife,  "what  would  become  of  poor  Ned  if  I 
were  to  die?" 

But  Ned  did  what  his  hand  found  to  do,  or, 
rather,  what  his  eyes  found  to  do.  He  studied 
and  explored  ;  and  exercise  and  interest  in  his 
occupation  made  him  stronger.  He  was  happy. 
His  little,  garret  room  was  full  of  specimens  of 
quartz,  crystal,  and  water- worn  pebbles. 

One  day,  Squire  Warner,  the  owner  of  half 
the  county,  stopped  Ned's  father  in  the  street. 

"I  want  you,"  he  said,  "to  come  with  me  to 
the  bank,  Mr.  Acton." 

Ned's  father  was  surprised,  but  he  went  with 
him.  He  was  more  surprised  when  Squire 
Warner  thrust  into  his  hand  a  check  for  five 
hundred  dollars. 

"What?"  stammered  Mr.  Acton. 

"  It's  yours,"  said  Squire  Warner,  slapping 
Mr.  Acton  on  the  back.  "I  want  you  to  use 


226  STORIES   AND    SKETCHES. 

it  in  educating  that  boy  of  yours.  I'll  give 
you  five  hundred  more  this  day  next  year,  and 
help  him  along  after  that.  With  his  little 
hammer,  he  found  copper  in  my  west  meadow." 

It  was  true  ;  Ned's  lonely  studies  had  made 
his  fortune.  He  never  became  very  strong ; 
but  he  was  strong  enough  to  do  a  great  deal  of 
good  work,  and,  after  a  time,  to  help  his 
parents  and  the  younger  children. 

How  had  he  done  this  ?     By  using  his  eyes. 


A  TALK  IN  THE  FALL. 


ATOVEMBER  makes  us  think  of  fires,  and 
[\  the  comforts  of  the  home  circle.  The 
chestnut  burrs  in  the  woods  are  all  that  remain 
of  the  chestnuts,  which  the  boys  and  squirrels 
have  made  the  most  of.  All  Saints'  Day  has 
come  and  passed,  and  All  Souls'  Day,  too. 
The  writer  hopes  that  you  did  not  forget  to 
offer  up  your  communion  for  the  souls  of  the 
faithful  departed,  especially  for  the  souls  of 
your  friends  who  have  gone  before. 

Think  a  moment  of  how  good  and  kind  your 
friends  were  to  you  before  they  died.  Perhaps 
it  is  your  mother  or  your  father  who  has  gone. 
Perhaps,  the  dear  old  grandmother  or  grand- 
father. Can  you  be  so  cruel  as  to  forget  them 
now  that  a  prayer  of  yours  may  help  them  ! 
Lord  Tennyson,  a  poet,  although  not  a  Catholic, 
writes  these  words  in  the  "Passing  of  Arthur." 

227 


228  STORIES    AND  SKETCHES. 

"  If  thou  should'st  never  see  my  face  again, 
Pray  for  my  soul.     More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer 
Than  this  world  dreams  of.     Wherefore  let  thy  voice 
Rise  like  a  fountain  for  me  night  and  day. 
For  what  are  men  better  than  sheep  or  goats 
That  nourish  a  blind  life  within  the  brain, 
If,  knowing  God,  they  lift  not  hands  of  prayer 
Both  for  themselves,  and  those  who  call  them  friend  ? 
For  so  the  whole  round  earth  is  every  way 
Bound  by  gold  chains  about  the  feet  of  God." 

This  is  worth  reading.  Lord  Tennyson 
found  the  old  story  of  King  Arthur  and  the 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table — a  Catholic  story, 
as  it  was,  and  put  it  into  imperishable  poetry. 
All  the  greatest  poets  the  world  has  had  since 
the  coming  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  have 
gotten  their  material  from  Catholic  sources. 

Chaucer,  who  wrote  the  Canterbury  Tales, 
was  a  Catholic.  Shakespeare  derived  his  in- 
spiration from  centuries  of  Catholic  thought 
and  culture.  Dry  den  became  a  Catholic. 
Tennyson  and  Longfellow  were  most  Cath- 
olic in  their  best  poems. 

Let  us  not  forget  that  the  world  owes  to  the 
Church  all  the  most  beautiful  things  in  Chris- 
tian art  and  literature. 

The  writer  thinks  that,  as  Catholics,  you 
ought  to  try  to  deserve  this  heritage.  You 
ought  to  remember  that  non-Catholics  say  over 


A    TALK    IN    THE    FALL.  229 

and  over  again,  "  Catholics  are  so  ignorant. 
Their  Church  is  the  mother  of  ignorance." 
They  do  not  know  that  the  most  ignorant 
Catholic  who  knows  his  Catechism  is  wiser 
than  they,  because,  although  he  may  not  know 
anything  of  art,  literature,  or  science,  he  knows 
how  to  work  for  God,  and  to  save  his  soul. 

But  you  who  have  opportunities,  here  in  this 
new  world,  ought  to  make  yourself  as  perfect 
as  you  can,  that  you  may  be  worthy,  in  a  de- 
gree, of  the  Church.  There  is  no  reason  why 
you,  a  child  of  Christ  and  His  Church,  should 
not  show  that  you  are  aware  that  the  Church 
is  the  protector  of  civilization  and  knowledge  : 
that,  without  the  Church  there  would  have 
been  no  Christian  civilization. 

Look  at  Turkey,  China,  and  India  without 
Christianity.  These  countries  are  civilized, 
but  their  civilization  is  not  Christian.  Turkey 
is  most  corrupt,  rotten.  The  politicians  call  it 
"  the  sick  man."  In  India  and  China,  mothers 
kill  their  little  girl  children,  or  leave  them  on 
the  roadside  to  die.  ;  and  when  a  child  is  born 
deaf  or  dumb,  it  is  killed.  And  yet,  Confucius, 
the  philosopher,  whom  the  wise  among  the 
Chinese  adore,  left  many  noble  maxims.  But 
all  the  treasures  of  human  wisdom  and  knowl- 


230  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

edge  cannot  save  a  country  from  corruption, 
when  Christianity  does  not  govern  it.  A  de- 
vout Belgian  priest  has  lately  established  the 
first  asylum  for  deaf  and  dumb  at  Bombay. 
Christianity  has  begun  to  save  the  children. 

An  old  friend  who  occasionally  looks  over 
my  shoulder  tells  me  that  I  have  been  talking 
over  the  heads  of  you  children,  and  that  you 
do  not  understand  what  I  have  said.  I  hope 
he  is  wrong,  for  I  think  you  are  a  great  deal 
smarter  than  the  "grown-ups"  would  have  us 
believe.  I  know  when  I  was  a  boy,  I  hated 
stories  in  "baby  words,"  written  down  to  me. 

Jack  Dowdy  is  the  most  helpful  boy  I  know. 
His  mother  is  a  widow ;  and  she  makes  many 
sacrifices  to  keep  Jack  at  the  parochial  school, 
and  Jack  knows  it.  He  said  to  me  the  other 
day,  when  he  brought  home  my  washed  clothes 
from  his  mother's  : 

"Do  you  think  it  is  better  to  become  a  good 
carpenter,  or  a  clerk,  sir?" 

I  told  him  that  a  trade  would  be  a  good  thing 
to  learn.  There  are  too  many  clerks,  too  many 
young  men  with  white  hands,  expert  at  making 


A   TALK   IN    THE   FALL.  231 

and  adding  up  figures,  and  too  few  good  car- 
penters. 

"Look,  Jack,"  I  said,  pointing  to  a  recess 
in  the  wall,  "I  want  a  bookcase  there;  but, 
although  I  have  made  a  plan,  none  of  the 
carpenters  can  make  it." 

"Why?"  asked  Jack,  looking  at  the  plan. 
' '  I  think  if  I  were  a  carpenter  /  could  make 
it." 

"Perhaps  so.  If  you  put  brains  into  your 
work,  and  had  kept  your  eyes  open  during 
your  apprenticeship,  you  might.  But  all  the 
young  carpenters  I  have  seen  say  that  I  shall 
have  to  get  a  'first-class  man'  to  do  it,  and 
none  of  them  are  'first-class'  carpenters.  If 
I  were  a  young  man,  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
say  it.  Now  I  would  give  thirty  dollars  for 
a  good  bookcase  that  can  be  taken  apart  on 
the  plan  I  have  made." 

Jack's  eyes  sparkled.  "Oh,  I  wish  I  was  a 
carpenter ! " 

"Well,  now,  learn  a  lesson,  Jack,  and  re- 
solve to  do  your  best  at  whatever  you  under- 
take. If  you  don't  do  that,  you  will  never  be 
a  'first-class'  man.  Opportunities  will  come 
and  pass  by  ;  you  will  be  unable  to  grasp  them, 
unless  you  resolve  to  do  everything  well — not 


232  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

to  slur  the  smallest  thing.  To  drive  each  nail 
as  hard  as  it  can  be  driven.  To  have  patience  ; 
never  to  hurry,  in  order  to  be  done  with  a 
piece  of  work." 

"But,  sir,"  said  Jack,  "clerks  are  more 
genteel ;  and  mother  says " 

"My  dear  boy,  you  must  wish  to  be  a  good 
workman  rather  than  to  be  genteel.  It  is  no 
advantage  to  have  white  hands.  Better  be  an 
honest,  patient  carpenter,  putting  brains  into 
your  work,  than  a  clerk  with  white  shirt  and 
hands,  a  diamond  pin,  and  a  load  of  debt. 
'Gentility'  is  a  word  that  no  American  should 
honor." 

Jack  went  off.  I  hope  he  profited  by  my 
sermon. 


HE  WANTED  TO  BE  A  CURIOSITY. 


I. 


JOE  was  taken  by  his  aunt  to  a  Museum  one 
day.  It  was  a  bright,  clear  day  in  winter, 
and  Joe  felt  very  happy  as  he  sat  in  the  car 
near  his  aunt,  and  asked  questions  about  the 
wonders  to  come.  Would  he  see  the  Fat 
Woman?  Oh,  yes.  And  the  Little  Elephant? 
Oh,  yes.  And  the  Living  Skeleton.  Yes, 
yes.  And  a  Lion?  Yes.  And  the  Beavded 
Woman  ?  —  Just  then  the  conductor  cried  out, 
"  Museum  !  "  and  the  car  stopped.  A  number 
of  children,  with  their  fathers,  mothers,  uncles, 
aunts,  or  nurses,  got  out. 

A  brass  band  was  playing  a  march  in  lively 

time.     Indeed,  it  sounded  as  if  the  music  was 

run  by  steam,   so  loud  and  quick  did  it  go. 

And  when  the  drum  and  cymbals  came  in,  it 

233 


234  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

seemed  louder  than  thunder  to  Joe.  His  aunt 
put  her  gloved  hands  to  her  ears,  but  Joe 
laughed  with  pleasure. 

"  I  am  afraid,  Aunt  Lucy,"  he  said,  "  that 
you  don't  care  for  music." 

"  I  don't  call  this  music,"  Aunt  Lucy  said. 

Joe  thought  Aunt  Lucy  was  very  stupid  ;  he 
said : 

"  I  think  it  is  lovely." 

There  were  immense  pictures  hung  over  the 
front  of  the  house  ;  pictures  of  all  colors,  red, 
blue,  yellow,  and  green.  There  was  a  big 
man  in  a  pink  suit,  painted  on  a  green  ground, 
playing  with  two  hideous  serpents  ;  there  was 
a  lady  so  fat,  that  the  canvas  gave  out,  and 
they  had  to  leave  her  with  only  one  arm,  and 
cut  off  part  of  her  shoulder.  In  fact,  the 
splendor  of  the  outside  of  the  museum  was  so 
great,  that  Joe  at  once  concluded  it  could  not 
be  equalled  within. 

A  man  stood  outside  with  a  big  snake  coiled 
around  his  arm.  He  said  : 

"  Step  in,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  see  the 
giant  serpent,  to  which  this  here  is  a  mere 
hinfant." 

Joe  knew  by  the  ' '  hinfant  "  that  the  speaker 
was  an  Englishman  ;  so,  while  Aunt  Lucy  paid 


HE    WANTED    TO    BE    A    CURIOSITY.         235 

for  the  tickets  at  the  box-office,  he  stepped  up 
to  him  and  spoke  : 

"  I  say,  sir,  I  was  in  London  with  my  father. 
Did  you  live  in  London  ?  " 

The  man  grinned,  and  put  his  hand  on  Joe's 
head  : 

"  Step  up,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  bawled, 
"  and  see  the  Live  Infant  Phenomenon  that 
was  in  Lunnon  with  its  father." 

Some  people  laughed ;  and  Aunt  Lucy  darted 
up  to  the  man,  gave  him  "  one  of  her  looks," 
as  she  afterwards  said,  and  took  Joe's  hand. 

"  Did  you  see  that  the  impertinent  man  was 
exhibiting  you  as  a  curiosity,  Joe  ?  " 

"  And  why  didn't  you  let  me  be  ?  "  said  Joe, 
in  an  aggrieved  tone.  "  I  would  like  to  be  a 
curiosity." 

Aunt  Lucy  would  probably  have  shaken 
Joe  after  her  usual  brisk  manner,  but  at  that 
moment  the  splendor  of  the  museum  broke  upon 
them. 

There  stood  the  Fat  AVoman,  one-sixth  the 
size  of  the  canvas  picture,  but,  nevertheless, 
fat  enough  to  satisfy  everybody  who  paid  a 
dime.  There  was  the  Living  Skeleton,  with 
tight  velvet  breeches  on  his  bony  legs.  There 
was  the  Circassian  Girl,  her  hair  stretching 


236  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

from  her  head,  "  like  quills  upon  the  fretful 
porcupine."  There  was  the  Little  Lady,  much 
smaller  than  Joe  himself,  wearing  a  gold  watch 
and  a  diamond  ring.  There  was  a  lean  Lion 
in  a  cage,  and  a  hungry  looking  Monkey  in 
another. 

Joe  began  to  ask  questions,  and  Aunt  Lucy 
had  a  hard  time  answering  them.  At  last  it 
was  time  to  go.  The  brass  band  was  playing 
"  Home,  Sweet  Home." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  said  Joe,  as  he  clung  to  Aunt 
Lucy's  hand  in  the  crowd  ;  "  I  wish  there  were 
more  curiosities  to  see.  Don't  curiosities  have 
a  lovely  time  ?  I  wish  I  was  a  curiosity  !  " 

"  A  lovely  time  !  "  said  Aunt  Lucy.  "  How 
silly  you  are,  Joe  !  They  have  a  very  hard 
time,  poor  things  !  " 

"You  always  contradict  me,  Aunt  Lucy," 
said  Joe,  in  an  injured  tone.  "  I'm  sure  the 
curiosities  have  a  good  time.  They  just  stand 
still  and  do  nothing,  and  eat  peanuts.  Why, 
the  Fat  Woman  and  the  Living  Skeleton  were 
eating  peanuts,  Aunt  Lucy.  Oh,  it  must  be 
lovely ! " 

Joe  was  a  very  lazy  boy.  He  hated  study  ; 
he  hated  work.  In  summer  he  liked  to  lie  on 
the  grass,  and  in  winter  to  lounge  on  a  sofa 


HE    WANTED    TO    BE    A    CURIOSITY.          237 

and  look  at  picture-books.  When  he  was  asked 
to  go  for  anything  for  his  father  or  mother,  he 
said,  "  Wait  a  minute."  He  was  always  saying 
wait  a  minute  ;  for,  as  I  said,  he  was  a  very 
lazy  boy.  His  health  was  good,  and  there  was 
no  excuse  for  him.  His  laziness  gave  his  father 
and  mother  great  concern.  He  never  liked  to 
get  up  in  time  for  Mass  ;  and,  as  he  was  ex- 
pected to  go  every  morning  with  his  father, 
this  laziness  gave  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 

After  his  visit  to  the  museum,  Joe  always 
said  when  he  was  asked  to  do  anything  requir- 
ing exertion : 

' '  I  wish  I  were  a  curiosity  !  " 


n. 


Joe  lived  in  a  city  on  a  river.  It  is  a  very 
pleasant  place,  and  so  we  will  call  it  Pleasant 
City. 

One  day,  Joe's  grandmother,  who  lives  in 
New  York,  invited  Aunt  Lucy  to  stay  with 


238  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

her.  Joe  wanted  to  go  ;  but  his  father  said 
that,  as  he  had  been  so  lazy  all  winter,  he  must 
stay  at  home  in  the  spring.  So  Aunt  Lucy 
went  alone.  She  travelled  with  Grandmother 
up  to  Canada.  There  they  saw  a  camp  of 
North  American  Indians,  and  Aunt  Lucy  sent 
Joe  a  picture  of  them.  Later,  in  Montreal, 
she  met  a  sailor  who  had  been  up  in  the  Arctic 
regions,  and,  from  his  descriptions,  she  made 
a  sketch  of  the  Esquimaux.  Joe  put  both  the 
pictures  in  his  scrap-book.  Aunt  Lucy  wrote 
Joe  this  letter  :  — 

"DEAR  JOE: 

•'Grandmother  and  I  bought  some  beaded  bags 
from  the  Indians.  They  are  very  nice  —  these 
Indians — to  talk  to.  The  squaws  showed  us  their 
papooses  tied  to  boards.  It  was  very  funny. 
Grandmother  gave  a  poor  sailor  some  money  for 
carrying  our  trunks  up-stairs ;  he  told  her  he  had 
been  up  in  the  Arctic  regions,  and  he  talked  a  long 
time  about  the  Esquimaux,  which  name  is,  I  believe 
derived  from  the  French  words,  '  Ceux  qui  tneoou ' 
(Those  who  meoou — like  cats).  They  are  strange 
people.  They  live  principally  on  fat  and  the  blub- 
ber of  the  whale.  Grandmother  says  you  may 
come  to  New  York,  and  that  Coney  Island  is  a 
wonderful  place." 


HE    WANTED    TO    BE    A    CURIOSITY.         239 

Joe  asked : 

"May  I?" 

"No,"  said  his  father,  "not  until  you  are 
able  to  read  Aunt  Lucy's  letter.  You  have 
been  so  lazy  and  idle,  that  you  can't  spell  ten 
words  out  of  twenty,  and  you  can  scarcely  read 
at  all." 

Joe  cried.  He  went  to  work  hard,  and  in  a 
month  he  was  able  to  spell  out  Aunt  Lucy's 
letter  better  than  his  father  expected.  So  he 
gave  Joe  permission  to  go.  He  was  put  in 
charge  of  a  conductor  known  to  his  father ; 
and,  after  a  short  trip,  reached  Jersey  City 
in  safety.  There  he  was  met  by  his  Aunt 
Lucy.  She  kissed  him  a  great  many  times, 
and  took  him  over  to  the  refreshment  stand 
and  gave  him  a  cup  of  nice  chocolate.  Joe 
was  in  high  spirits. 

"But,  oh,  Aunt  Lucy,"  he  said;  "I  wish 
I  was  a  curiosity.  Curiosities  get  paid  for 
doing  nothing.  They  eat  peanuts  every  day 
—  I  saw  'em  at  the  Dime  Museum  at  home. 
Oh,  dear,  when  I  grow  up,  I  am  going  to  be 
a  curiosity." 

"You  will  be  a  curiosity,"  said  Aunt  Lucy, 
severely;  "you'll  be  the  idlest  boy  in  New 
York,  if  you  don't  take  care." 


240  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

But  Aunt  Lucy  and  Joe  were  good  friends. 
They  had  so  much  to  talk  about,  on  their  way 
up  to  Grandmother's,  and  so  much  to  see,  that 
this  little  passage  of  arms  was  forgotten. 

The  elevated  railroad  was  a  marvel  to  Joe. 
How  it  flew  through  the  air!  And  "inside  it 
was  just  like  a  little  parlor,"  he  said.  The 
glimpses  of  life  he  caught  in  the  windows  of 
the  houses,  as  the  train  shot  past  them  amused 
Joe  very  much.  In  one,  he  saw  a  little  baby 
in  a  hia;h  chair ;  in  another,  a  small  girl  hav- 
ing her  hair  combed ;  in  another,  a  woman 
setting  a  table  for  dinner ;  and  in  still  another, 
two  boys  making  a  kite. 

Grandmother  was  glad  to  see  Joe.  The 
lamps  were  lighted,  and  dinner  was  ready. 
It  was  all  very  cheerful ;  and,  after  dinner, 
Grandmother  gave  him  a  big  scrap-book  and 
a  pocket-knife  with  six  blades. 

"Oh,  dear,  said  Joe,  " I  think  grandmothers 
are  almost  as  good  as  mothers." 

Grandmother  laughed.  "Well,  Joe,"  she 
asked,  "  what  will  you  do,  when  you  grow  up? 
I  like  boys  to  have  some  idea  of  what  they 
will  do  when  they  grow  up.  What  will  you 

be,  a  carpenter,  a " 

"Oh,  nothing,"  answered   Joe,   cheerfully; 


HE    WANTED    TO    BE    A    CUEIOSITY.          241 


"I  don't  intend  to  do  anything,  I'm  going  to 
be  a  curiosity." 

Grandmother  was  astonished. 

Aunt  Lucy  explained;  Grandmother  shook 
her  head,  and  said,  "What  a  strange  boy !" 

"Do  you  think  I'm  a  strange  boy?"  Joe 
asked,  earnestly;  "because,  if  I  am,  people 
will  want  to  see  me  at  the  museum.  When  I 
grow  up,  I'm  going  to  be  either  a  Tattooed  Boy 
or  a  Feejee  Cannibal ;  because  it's  good  fun  to 
be  paid  for  doing  nothing  but  just  eating  pea- 
nuts." 

* '  Dear  !  dear  ! "  said  Grandmother  ;  "  I  do 
hope,  Lucy,  he'll  grow  out  of  this  idea.  We 
never  had  a  Tattooed  Boy  or  a  Feejee  Cannibal 
on  our  side  of  the  family,  had  we?" 

"I  should  hope  not,"  answered  Aunt  Lucy, 
smiling  a  little. 

"I  tell  you,  Aunt  Lucy,  as  we've  always 
been  good  friends  when  you  don't  fuss  about  a 
fellow  too  much,  I  don't  mind,  if  I  get  you  an 
engagement  when  I  grow  up,  as  a  Living 
Curiosity.  With  your  hair  fluffed  out,  you'd 
make  a  good  Circassian  Girl." 

Grandmother  said  it  was  time  for  Joe  to  go 
to  bed. 

On   the   next   day,  Grandmother,  Joe,  and 


242  STORIES  AND  SKETCHES. 

Aunt  Lucy  went  to  Coney  Island.  They  started 
from  the  Battery  in  a  steamboat.  The  breeze 
was  fresh  and  cool.  They  had  chicken  and 
ham  sandwiches  and  cake  in  a  pasteboard  box, 
which  they  could  throw  away  when  they  were 
done  with  it,  and  coffee  in  one  bottle,  and 
lemonade  in  another. 

Joe  had  never  seen  the  sea  before  ;  it  was 
wonderful ;  but,  to  his  mind,  not  so  wonderful 
as  the  noise  of  the  organ  around  which  the 
merry-go-rounds  revolved ;  the  sled  which  ran 
like  lightning  on  a  wooden  track ;  the  gay 
crowds ;  and,  above  all,  the  splendid  scenes 
depicted  on  the  canvases  of  the  museums.  It 
was  strange  to  see  men,  women,  and  children 
riding  around  to  the  loud  music  of  an  organ, 
on  gilded  giraffes,  elephants,  and  ostriches ; 
but  more  strange,  more  magnificent,  were  the 
attractions  of  the  museums. 

Joe  would  not  move  away  from  one  of  them, 
where  a  fat  woman  was  pictured  on  a  yellow 
throne,  dressed  in  purple,  with  a  vermillion 
crown  on  her  head. 

"Oh,  Grandmother!"  Joe  said,  "cZo  take 
me  in.  I'm  sure  it's  my  Fat  Woman,  and  the 
Living  Skeleton  must  be  the  one  I  saw  in 
Pleasant  City.  Do  take  me  in  ! " 


HE    WANTED   TO    BE    A    CURIOSITY.         243 

Grandmother  hesitated  a  minute,  and  then, 
seeing  that  other  boys  were  going  in  with  their 
fathers  and  mothers,  smiled  and  said  to  Aunt 
Lucy : 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  must  go." 

This  museum  contained  some  curiosities  Joe 
had  not  seen  at  Pleasant  City.  There  was  a 
Crocodile  in  water,  a  Fat  Baby,  and  Views  of 
Europe.  You  looked  through  holes,  and  saw 
these  Views.  The  first  was  a  temple  with 
pillars  —  that  is,  a  photograph  of  a  templo 
with  pillars.  "This,"  the  man  said,  "is  the 
Coliseum  at  Rome."  Then  you  looked  through 
another  hole,  and  saw  another  temple  with  a 
portico  and  pillars.  "This,"  said  the  man, 
"is  the  Acropolis  at  Athens."  Again  you 
looked  through  another  hole,  and  saw  another 
temple  with  pillars.  "This,"  said  the  man, 
"  is  a  Wonder  of  Classic  Art ;  you  will  see  it, 
when  you  go  to  Europe."  Finally,  Joe  looked 
through  another  hole.  "You  now  perceive," 
said  the  man,  "St.  Peter's  at  Rome."  But  it 
was  a  temple  with  pillars,  just  like  the  others. 

"There's  a  great  deal  of  sameness  about 
Europe,  Aunt  Lucy;  I  don't  think  I'd  like  to 
go  there  ;  it's  just  like  Girard  College  in  Phila- 
delphia, /would  rather  stay  at  Coney  Island." 


244  STOEIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

This  was  Joe's  conclusion,  having  seen  the 
views. 

The  Curiosity  of  Curiosities,  in  this  collec- 
tion, was  a  Learned  Pig.  He  could  add  up 

figures  chalked  on  the  black-board.     He  could 

, 

dance  on  his  hind  legs.  He  walked  around  the 
stage  with  a  Derby  hat  on,  like  a  dude. 

"Oh,"  cried  Joe,  "he  is  a  gem  !" 

"  Come  on,"  said  his  Grandmother.  "  Don't 
get  lost!" 

Joe  did  not  hear.  His  eyes  and  ears  were 
all  for  the  Learned  Pig. 

It  was  getting  dark.  A  great  crowd  had 
come  into  the  museum,  and  gone  out  again. 
Joe  was  left  almost  alone,  for  his  Grandmother 
and  Aunt  Lucy  had  been  carried  out  by  the 
crowd  on  its  way  to  supper.  The  museum  was 
about  to  close  for  an  hour,  that  the  Curiosities 
might  have  something  to  eat. 

The  Learned  Pig  was  kept  in  a  pen  behind 
the  Fat  Woman.  The  Fat  Woman  screened 
him  from  view,  except  when  he  was  performing 
his  tricks  on  the  stage.  Joe,  in  admiration  of 
the  Pig,  stood  in  front  of  his  pen,  hidden  from 
view,  too.  When  the  manager  cleared  the 
tent,  and  a  long  table  was  brought  out  for 
supper,  Joe  was  not  seen.  Therefore  he  was 


HE    WANTED    TO    BE   A    CURIOSITY.          245 

left    between    the    Learned   Pig   and   the   Fat 
Woman. 

The  table  was  spread  with  bread,  meat,  po- 
tatoes, bottles  of  beer,  and  tea-cups.  Then 
the  Fat  Woman  descended  to  take  her  place  at 
the  head  'of  the  table.  The  Living  Skeleton 
sat  on  her  right  hand,  and  handed  the  butter  to 
everybody  ;  the  Circassian  Girl  made  the  tea  ; 
a  Two-headed  Boy  and  the  Feejee  Cannibal 
opened  some  bottles  of  beer,  and  the  other 
Curiosities  took  their  places  just  like  you  or 
me,  or  any  less  exalted  mortal.  There  was 
some  trouble  about  carving  the  cold  beef.  The 
manager,  a  bald  man,  with  red  whiskers, 
wanted  to  do  it,  but  the  Living  Skeleton  would 
not  permit  it.  He  said  the  manager  had  a 
habit  of  cutting  the  slices  of  meat  too  thin, 
and  he  would  not  stand  that. 

"If  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  will  excuse 
me,"  said  the  Circassian  Lady,  with  great 
amiability,  "I'll  take  off  my  wig  and  carve. 
A  wig  is  very  warm  these  days." 

Joe  was  amazed  at  the  greediness  of  the 
Living  Skeleton.  He  had  never  seen  anybody 
eat  so  much. 

"  Take  care,"  said  the  manager  to  the 
Skeleton,  "if  you  eat  so  much,  you'll  gain 


246  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

flesh.  You  know  you  weigh  half  a  pound 
more  than  you  did  last  year.  If  you  keep 
on,  I'll  have  to  reduce  your  salary.  You're 
not  worth  as  much  as  a  good  Boa  Constrictor 
as  it  is." 

"I  tell  you,"  cried  the  Two-headed  Boy,  as 
he  filled  one  mouth  with  beef,  and  the  other 
with  bread,  "I  must  have  more  money.  I  am 
tired  of  being  a  Living  Curiosity.  Are  you 
not  Jim?" 

The  other  mouth  answered  at  once  :  "Yes, 
sir  !  It's  no  fun  to  be  tied  up  the  way  we  are, 
making  people  believe  there  is  only  one  boy 
here,  when  there's  two.  I'd  rather  go  and 
dig  cellars,  I  would  !" 

Joe  was  amazed.  Such  sentiments  from  a 
Living  Curiosity — the  happiest  of  beings  !  Joe 
waited  for  the  manager  to  rebuke  him  or  them  ; 
but  nothing  was  said. 

"Oh,  dear,"  said  the  Fat  Woman,  fanning 
herself  with  her  handkerchief;  "Tin  quite 
wretched — quite!  I  would  give  all  I  have 
in  this  world  to  be  able  to  move  about  like 
other  people !  I'm  thoroughly  and  utterly 
wretched.  Death  would  be  a  relief!" 

Joe  could  endure  this  no  longer.  The 
Learned  Pig  would  utter  sentiments  of  in- 


HE    WANTED    TO    BE    A    CURIOSITY.          247 

gratitude  after  awhile.     This  thing  must  come 
to  an  end. 

"Excuse  me,  ma'am,"  said  Joe,  taking  off 
his  hat,  and  stepping  forward,  "but  I  must  say 
you  are  very  wicked.  Where  do  you  expect 
to  go  when  you  die  ?  You  ought  to  be  happy  ; 
you  sit  still  all  day,  and  eat  peanuts.  I  saw 
you  eating  peanuts  in  Pleasant  City,  and  you 
are  eating  peanuts  here.  You  ought  to  be 
thankful,  ma'am.  Many  a  poor  boy — I  mean 
poor  lady — has  to  run  around  all  day  for  other 
people,  and  never  sees  a  peanut,  except  on 
Sunday." 

The  Circassian  Lady  dropped  the  carving- 
knife.  The  Two-headed  Boy  grinned  with  one 
mouth,  and  said  "Put  him  out!"  with  the 
other. 

"Do  I  hear  right?"  asked  the  Fat  Woman, 
in  surprise,  turning  her  eyes  on  Joe.  "Know, 
rash  youth,  that  I  was  never  in  Pleasant  City. 
/  do  not  star  in  the  provinces.  It  must  have 
been  some  base  imitation.  I  am  Madame  Lur- 
line  de  Chateaux -Margeaux  the  Great,  Only 
Original  and  Unapproachable  Mountain  of 
Obesity." 

Joe  was  overwhelmed. 

"Where's   Grandmother?"   he   asked,    sud- 


248  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

denly  becoming  aware  that  he  had  been  left 
by  his  guardians. 

"The  poor  child's  lost,"  said  the  good-natured 
Fat  Woman,  changing  her  tone.  "  Here,  you 
Two-headed  Idiots,  bring  a  chair  for  the  child 
near  me.  I  guess  his  grandmother  will  come 
after  him.  We'll  keep  him  until  she  does. 
Please  pass  him  a  slice  of  meat,  Mademoiselle 
Columbine,"  she  continued,  addressing  the  Cir- 
cassian Girl. 

"Sure  I  will,  with  a  heart  and  half,"  said 
that  lady.  "And  will  the  dear  child  take 
sugar  in  his  tea?  Of  course.  Sure,  he's  the 
very  image  of  me  own  brother  Mick,  that 
cried  so  when  I  joined  the  museum.  It's  me 
last  year,  though,  wearing  a  wig,  and  being 
stared  at ! " 

Joe  soon  felt  quite  at  home.  To  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  Curiosities,  he  told  them  how  he 
longed  to  be  one  of  them. 

The  Circassian  Lady  gave  him  another  slice 
of  beef,  cut  thick,  and  said  :  "My  dear  child, 
do  not  mind  work.  Work  will  make  you 
strong.  Any  honest  work  is  good,  provided 
it's  honest.  This  work  isn't  honest  so  far  as 
I'm  concerned,  for  I  deceive  the  public  every 
day.  The  Feejee  Boy  thinks  the  same  as  I  do." 


HE    WANTED    TO    BE    A    CURIOSITY.          249 

"I  do,"  said  the  Feejee  Boy,  solemnly, 
wiping  his  false  beard  with  his  napkin ;  "I 
do.  It's  the  hardest  work  I  ever  did.  I'd 
rather  be  a  hod-carrier  than  stand  idle  here 
day  after  day,  and  know  I'm  a  fraud.  It's 
true,  young  fellow,  as  sure  as  my  name  is 
George  Washington  Robinson  ! " 

"It's  a  loafing,  idle,  useless  life,"  said  the 
Fat  Woman.  "It  is  better,  my  boy,  to  eat 
dry  bread  and  butter,  without  sugar,  and  work 
honestly  for  it,  than  to  eat  peanuts,  or  even 
roasted  chestnuts,  in  idleness,  /know." 

"  We  know  ! "  cried  all  the  Curiosities,  except 
the  Learned  Pig,  who  seemed  very  well  satis- 
fied with  his  lot. 

At  this  moment  Joe  heard  Grandmother's 
voice  outside. 

"Good-night!  Thank  you  all!"  he  said, 
running  out. 

"Oh,  Joe  !"  cried  his  Grandmother,  "  what 
a  fright  you  gave  us  ! " 

It  was  quite  dark.  The  light  in  the  various 
hotels,  and  places  of  amusement  shone  like  a 
great  crown  of  rubies,  diamonds,  and  emeralds 
against  the  sky.  Joe  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  delight.  Then  he  said,  taking  Grand- 
mother's hand  on  one  side,  and  Aunt  Lucy's 
on  the  other : 


250  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  a  Living  Curiosity. 
I'm  going  in  for  honest  work.  Grandmother, 
you  or  Aunt  Lucy  shall  never  want  while  / 
have  my  hands." 

Then  they  went  and  bought  roasted  sausages 
and  rolls  from  a  German  woman  at  a  little 
covered  stand. 


A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE. 


I. 


LITTLE  Gretchen  lived  with  her  sister, 
Frau  Julia,  in  a  little  Swiss  village,  high 
up  in  the  mountains.  If  you  have  seen  the 
trees  —  the  very  green,  pointed  ones  —  that 
are  sold  in  the  toy-shops  with  the  "  farm- 
yards "  in  boxes,  you  know  what  the  trees 
around  Frau  Julia's  house  were  like.  Frau 
Julia  had  children  of  her  own,  but  they  were 
two  small  babies ;  so  Gretchen,  who  was  an 
orphan,  had  no  one  to  play  with.  Besides, 
Frau  Julia's  babies  were  boys,  and  they  did 
not  care  for  dolls. 

Frau  Julia's  husband,  who  went  often  to 
town  to  buy  silk  for  the  lace  he  and  his  wife 
made,  brought  Gretchen  several  dolls.  One  of 
them,  named  Lilia,  she  loved  very  much ;  and, 
after  she  had  helped  Frau  Julia  to  wash  the 
251 


252  STORIES    AND  SKETCHES. 

dishes,  and  the  rosary  had  been  said  —  the 
rosary  was  always  said  every  night  in  Frau 
Julia's  house  —  she  used  to  sit  in  a  corner  of 
the  kitchen  and  wash  and  dress  Lilia. 

Gretchen  was  not  a  Swiss  child ;  she  had 
been  born  in  Alsace,  which  formerly  belonged 
to  France,  but  which  now  belongs  to  Germany. 
She  spoke  a  little  German,  and  more  French. 

One  day  a  letter,  postmarked  "  Milwaukee, 
U.  S.  of  A.,"  came  to  Frau  Julia's  husband. 
It  was  from  a  brother  of  Frau  Julia's,  living  in 
America.  It  said : 

"  DEAR  JOSEF  AND  JULIA  : 

"  I  write  to  ask  a  favor,  which  I  hope  you  will 
grant.  You  know  that  my  wife  is  dead,  and  that 
I  have  no  children.  I  am  alone  in  the  world.  I 
am  not  poor ;  I  have  two  fine  farms  here,  and  three 
houses  in  the  city.  Can  you  not  —  you  who  have 
two  children  of  your  own  —  let  me  have  the  little 
Gretchen  ? 

"  I  send,  by  this  steamer,  a  box  of  presents  for 
yourselves  and  the  boys,  and  a  sum  of  money  for 
Gretchen.  I  hope  you  will  send  her  with  anybody 
who  may  be  coming  over  here.  If  nobody  is  com- 
ing, have  her  put  in  charge  of  the  purser  of  the 
steamer,  and  telegraph  to  me  the  name  of  the 
steamer.  You  will  find  more  than  enough  money 
in  the  box  to  pay  for  everything." 


A   MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE.  253 


Fran  Julia,  after  she  had  read  this  letter, 
cried,  and  said  she  could  not  part  from  Gretchen, 
who  was  quietly  playing  with  Lilia  in  a  corner. 
Josef  shook  his  head,  and  said  : 

"  I  love  the  little  girl,  too;  but  she  is  too 
clever  and  bright  to  be  kept  here  among  peas- 
ants, who  can  do  nothing  but  cut  toys  out  of 
wood." 

Frau  Julia  fired  up  at  this.  "Cut  toys! 
Your  father  did  it.  Our  boys  will  do  it.  It's 
good  enough  for  Gretchen." 

"  No,"  said  Josef,  smiling,  "  our  boys  will, 
I  hope,  go  with  us  over  across  the  sea,  before 
they  are  much  older.  Land  is  cheap  there,  and 
dear  here.  I  will  make  farmers  of  them." 

Frau  Julia  shook  her  head.  "  As  you  will, 
husband.  But  I  could  not  let  Gretchen  go, 
unless  I  was  sure  of  seeing  her  again." 

It  was  agreed  that  Josef  should  take  Gret- 
chen to  the  steamer,  and  put  her  in  charge  of 
the  purser,  who  would  land  her  in  New  York. 

When  Gretchen  was  told,  she  cried.  Her 
sister  found  her  pillow  wet  with  tears  in  the 
morning  ;  and  for  a  whole  week  the  twin  babies 
were  in  constant  danger  of  catching  cold,  so 
often  did  Gretchen  weep  over  them. 

When  the  box  from  America  was   opened, 


254  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

they  found  nice  frocks  for  Gretchen  and  the 
babies,  and  gold  chains  for  each,  a  huge  paper 
of  candy  and  popcorn,  a  lot  of  dress  stuifs  for 
Frau  Julia,  and  some  razors  and  a  collection  of 
cutlery  for  Josef.  Last,  but  not  least,  was  a 
pocket-book  stuffed  with  notes,  some  for  Gret- 
chen, some  for  Josef. 

The  day  of  departure  came.  Poor  Gretchen 
hugged  Lilia  to  her  breast.  Lilia,  whose  hair 
had  just  been  plaited  for  the  tenth  time  that 
morning,  seemed  to  smile  out  of  her  china  blue 
eyes. 

"At  least,"  sobbed  Gretchen,  "I  have 
Lilia,  I  will  never  —  never  part  from  her. 
Never  1  " 


n. 


Josef  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  the  purser 
of  the  steamer  to  promise  to  keep  an  eye  on 
Gretchen.  He  found,  too,  a  nice,  motherly 
woman,  from  Zurich,  who,  with  six  children, 
were  going  to  America.  She  promised,  also, 
to  look  after  her. 

"  Come  to  America   soon,   brother   Josef," 


A    MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE.  255 

Gretchen  said,  as  she  sent  her  last  kiss  to  the 
twins,  "  and  I  will  say  the  rosary  every  night, 
as  Julia  bade  inc.  And  I  will  not  lose  my 

money.  And  I  will  tell "but  the  bell 

rang.  Josef  kissed  the  sad  little  face,  and 
jumped  ashore. 

Josef  and  Julia  had  a  sad  night.  Those  left 
behind  have  always  the  worst  of  it. 

Gretchen  was  amused  by  all  the  new  things 
around  her.  The  funny  way  that  people  slept 
in  shelves  against  the  side  of  the  ship  made  her 
laugh.  And  she  was  pleased  when  a  kind  man 
lifted  her  and  Lilia  into  their  berth.  Gretchen 
was  charmed.  The  steamer  seemed  to  rock 
like  a  cradle.  Some  of  the  passengers  sang 
Swiss  songs,  and  others  cried  while  they  were 
singing.  Gretchen  was  asked  to  sing,  and  she 
began  a  little  Alsatian  song : 

"  Petite  berg^re  qui  chant  toujours 

Dans  les  champs  fleuris, 
A  qui  pense-tu  tous  les  jours  ? 
Tra-la,  tra-li!" 

But  this  made  her  cry,  too,  and  she  sang  no 
more.  Still  she  had  Lilia.  Lilia' was  so  good 
to  have  !  She  never  answered  back,  or  did 
anything  naughty.  She  smiled  all  the  time, 


256  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

and  no  matter  what  anybody  said,  listened  po- 
litely. When  one  of  the  little  children  from 
Zurich  tried  to  gouge  out  one  of  her  blue  eyes 
with  a  pencil,  she  smiled  on  !  Gretchen,  having 
rescued  her,  felt  that  such  meekness  under 
trial,  was  worthy  of  imitation. 

The  voyage  across  the  ocean  was  pleasant 
and  quick.  Gretchen  landed  at  Castle  Garden 
with  the  rest  of  the  emigrants.  Her  name  was 
taken  in  that  pen  which  has  been  wisely  built, 
so  that  no  new-comer  can  escape  the  vigilance 
of  the  authorities.  She  was  patted  on  the  head 
by  kind  officials  and  given  over  to  a  matron 
with  a  kind  face,  who  told  her  that  a  letter 
from  her  step-brother  in  Milwaukee  had  been 
received,  asking  the  people  at  the  Garden  to 
watch  for  a  little  girl  with  long  blonde  hair, 
plaited  at  the  back.  Gretchen  was  so  aston- 
ished by  the  noise  and  the  crowds  that,  until 
the  kind  matron  had  done  speaking,  she  did 
not  think  of  Lilia.  Now,  she  did  not  under- 
stand a  word  of  English,  so  she  could  only 
know  that  the  matron  was  saying  something 
nice,  from  the  kind  look  in  her  face.  The 
woman  from  Zurich  and  her  flock  had  left  for 
the  West. 

"  Lilia  !  "  cried  Gretchen. 


A   MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE.  257 

"  What?"  asked  the  matron. 

"  Lilia,  oh,  my  Lilia  !  "Where  can  she  be? 
I  have  lost  her  !  I  have  lost  her  !  " 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  little  child?" 
asked  one  of  the  officials.  "  Has  she  lost  any- 
body ! " 

"Have  you  lost  anybody!"  asked  the 
matron. 

"Lilia!  oh,  Lilia!  Where  is  she?"  cried 
vjretchen,  in  German,  wringing  her  hands. 

"Have  you  lost  your  sister?"  asked  the 
matron. 

"  Lilia!  Oh,  where  shall  I  find  thee,  thou 
dearest  Lilia  ?  " 

"Poor  thing!"  said  the  matron.  "We'll 
find  your  sister,  though  I  didn't  know  there 
were  two  of  you  expected.  Has  anybody 
seen  this  little  girl's  sister  ?  " 

Nobody  had  seen  her. 

In  the  meantime,  Gretchen  refused  to  be 
comforted.  She  ran  about,  looking  in  all  the 
holes  and  corners.  Where  was  Lilia? 

"You  won't  find  your  sister  under  people's 
feet,"  said  the  matron  ;  "  there's  no  use  looking 
on  the  floor  for  her.  What  a  queer  child  !  I 
hope  she  isn't  crazy." 

Poor  Gretchen    still  wept  so  piteously  that 


258  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

everybody  became  interested  and  touched  by 
her  distress. 

' '  Lilia  was  all  I  had  !  Ah  !  she  was  so  good 
— so  Heblichf"  she  said  to  a  newspaper  re- 
porter, who  could  understand  German. 

"You'll  find  her,  little  girl,"  he  said;  "the 
whole  place  is  in  a  bustle  looking  for  her. 
She  can  tell  her  name,  you  know." 

"But  she  can't  speak,"  said  Gretchen, 
amazed  at  his  stupidity,  ' '  She  wasn't  one  of 
those  that  speak.  She  couldn't  open  her  eyes 
either.  But  she  was  so  schonl" 

The  reporter  was  touched.  "Dumb  and 
blind  !"  he  exclaimed  to  the  matron.  "Poor, 
poor  child !  We  must  find  her ! "  And  he 
wrote  a  long  article  in  his  paper,  in  which  he 
described  "Lilia,  the  Lost  Child"  in  the  most 
pathetic  language.  Another  day  passed.  Still 
Gretchen  lamented.  The  purser  of  the  steamer 
said  there  had  been  no  dumb  and  blind  child 
on  board.  But  so  intense  was  the  interest  in 
Gretchen's  story,  that  nobody  believed  him. 
A  telegram  came  from  her  step-brother,  saying 
he  would  reach  New  York  the  following  day. 

How  could  Gretchen  go  away  without  Lilia  ? 
Oh,  dear,  dear !  More  tears !  Suddenly,  in 
her  desperation,  she  thought  of  the  dear  St. 


A    MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE.  259 

Anthony  of  Padua,  who  always  finds  lost 
things  for  people  when  they  ask  him. 

"Dear  St.  Anthony,"  she  said,  "please  find 
Lilia." 

After  which,  she  went  to  her  box  to  find  a 
collar.  She  couldn't  get  one  at  first,  because 
it  was  beneath  a  pile  of  clothes.  She  fumbled 
in  the  box,  and  at  the  very  bottom  found  Lilia, 
unharmed.  She  remembered  then  that  she  had 
put  her  treasure  there  on  the  day  before  the 
steamer  landed  ! 

The  matron  had  tears  in  her  eyes.  There 
was  a  group  of  anxious-looking  people  around 
her. 

"It's  a  strange  mystery,"  the  policeman 
said  ;  "  strange,  very  strange  !" 

"To  think  of  that  poor,  deaf,  dumb  child 
alone  in  this  big,  wicked  city.  Poor  little 
orphan  ! "  cried  the  matron,  wiping  her  eyes. 

Suddenly  Gretchen  burst  into  the  room. 

"I  have  found  her  !  "  she  cried,  joyously. 

"Who?  when?"  was  the  chorus. 

"In  my  box!" 

"Poor  child  !"  said  a  kind-hearted  Irish  girl, 
just  landed.  "  She  has  gone  crazy.  Sure,  it's 
myself  that  knows  what  it  is  to  loose  a  sister. 
And  she  deaf  and  dumb  too  ! " 


260  STORIES  AND    SKETCHES. 

"'In  my  box!'"  translated  the  German 
clerk.  In  her  box  !  How  could  she  find  her 
sister  in  a  box? 

Gretchen  held  up  Lilia  and  kissed  her  over 
and  over  again. 

"The  good  St.  Anthony  found  her." 

"A  doll,7'  cried  the  matron. 

"A  doll,"  cried  the  policeman. 

"Only  a  doll,"  groaned  the  reporter. 

"She  had  no  sister!"  cried  the  Irish  girl. 
"The  deceiving  little  creature." 

' '  A  DOLL  ! "  exclaimed  everybody  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"And  this  is  Gretchen!"  cried  a  pleasant 
voice,  as  a  big,  brown  man  caught  her  in  his 
arms. 

"And  this  is  Lilia,  too,"  answered  Gretchen, 
"thanks  to  the  good  St.  Anthony  !" 

Gretchen  and  Lilia  are  very  happy  on  a  farm 
near  Milwaukee.  Lilia  has  lost  an  arm,  but 
she  has  herself  not  been  lost  since  that  awful 
time. 


AT   SCHOOL  AGAIN. 


THE  first  school  weeks  are  over,  and  the 
plunge  back  into  the  routine  of  school- 
work  has  not  been  so  bad  as  it  looked,  has  it? 
It  was  pretty  hard  to  get  into  the  old  school- 
room again  and  bend  over  books,  with  visions 
of  the  delights  of  vacation  times  dancing  be- 
fore your  eyes.  It  used  to  be  hard  in  my  time 
—  very  hard. 

They  tell  me  the  new-fashioned  school-rooms 
are  very  neat  and  trim,  with  all  kinds  of 
modern  improvements,  and  smooth,  varnished 
desks. 

When  I  was  young,  in  an  old  school-house 
by  the  Delaware,  we  had  not  any  of  these 
things,  nor  any  of  the  bright  school-books, 
full  of  pictures,  Mr.  O'Shea  sends  out  every 
year.  I  remember  the  ' '  History  of  Jack  Hal- 
yard" was  our  reading-book;  there  were  one 
or  two  wood-cuts  in  it  of  women  and  little 
261 


262  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

girls  in  very  short- waisted  gowns,  and  little 
boys  in  wide  collars  and  tall  hats.  I  have  for- 
gotten what  it  was  all  about  now ;  indeed,  I 
forget  whether  the  hero's  name  was  Halyard  or 
Halifax,  but  one  of  the  leading  incidents  turned 
on  the  amazement  of  two  little  Jersey  boys 
who  saw  a  gilt-framed  mirror  for  the  first  time, 
and  who  thought  the  frame  was  pure  gold  ! 

How  rough  and  brown  were  the  desks  in 
that  old  school !  There  was  a  name  that  had 
been  cut  in  1848  ;  and  on  the  side  of  our  desk, 
farthest  from  the  teachers,  a  fellow  had  tried, 
to  cut  "E  pluribus  unum,"  but  had  got  only  as 
far  as  "E  plur"  when  the  rattan  descended, 
and  he  wept.  Wood-carving  was  not  encouraged 
in  those  days  !  Dear,  dear !  I  don't  think  I 
could  go  to  a  school  where  the  desks  are  new. 
I  should  be  constantly  asking  "Where  are  the 
friends  of  my  youth?"  and  looking  for  "J. 
McGinniss,  1848,"  and  for  "Eplur." 

We  had  Miss  Edge  worth's  ' '  Parents'  Assist- 
ant," and  the  tales  of  the  dear,  delightful 
Canon  Schmid.  Ah,  those  Sunday  afternoons, 
when  catechism  was  over,  and  supper  wasn't 
ready !  How  we  followed  Miss  Edgeworth's 
little  Italian,  and  learned  from  her  never  to 
threw  a  piece  of  string  away,  or  to  cut  a  cord 


AT    SCHOOL    AGAIN.  263 

that  could  be  untied  !  And  the  grand  people 
in  Canon  Schmid's  stories !  I  have  never 
grown  tired  of  them,  and  I  hope  I  never  will, 
until  I  meet  the  dear  old  Canon  in  Heaven. 

Ah,  my  dear  children,  be  cheerful  and  con- 
tent. Do  your  best  in  the  present,  and  do  not 
spoil  it  by  wishing  to  be  old.  You  may  make 
up  your  mind  to  this  :  you  will  never  be  quite 
happy  in  this  world.  These  October  days  will 
never  come  back  again ;  and  in  the  time  to 
come,  although  you  may  have  gained  gold,  you 
will  look  to  the  gold  of  these  youthful  days  — 
the  gold  of  the  mellow  sunlight  and  yellow 
leaves — with  regret. 

To-day,  most  of  you  have  your  fathers  and 
mothers  with  you.  What  joy  can  equal  that 
in  the  future  ?  Perhaps  you  do  not  think  much 
of  it  now ;  but  a  time  will  come  when  you  will 
think  much  of  it.  The  coming  days  may  bring 
you  the  fine  things  you  dream  of,  but  it  cannot 
make  the  beloved  faces  younger,  or  bring  them 
back  to  you  after  they  have  gone. 

There  is  an  important  thing  you  often  forget 
— yes,  you,  John,  Patrick,  George,  or  whoever 
may  be  reading  this.  The  important  thing  is, 
that  you  are  getting  ready  for  life.  All  this 
going  to  school  is  only  a  making  ready.  First 


264  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

of  all,  you  say  your  prayers,  learn  your  cate- 
chism lessons,  and  attend  to  your  religious 
duties,  to  know,  serve,  and  love  God  in  this 
world,  and  to  be  happy  with  him  forever  in  the 
next.  In  order  to  do  your  part  well  in  this 
world,  you  must  fit  yourself  for  work.  You 
must  make  and  keep  yourself  healthy.  The 
bigger  your  lungs  are,  the  stronger  your  mus- 
cles are,  the  more  you  will  be  able  to  endure 
in  the  race  of  life.  Play  hard,  then.  Don't 
mind  a  scratch  or  two.  Don't  be  idle.  Run, 
walk,  play  ball,  keep  out  in  the  open  air,  and 
have  a  good  time  whenever  your  parents  have 
nothing  for  you  to  do. 

Don't  play  when  you  ought  to  work,  and 
don't  fail  to  help  mother  when  there's  a  chance. 
What  is  more  disgusting  than  to  see  a  boy 
standing  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  whist- 
ling, while  his  mother  almost  faints  under  a 
huge  market-basket?  or  strains  herself  carry- 
ing a  bucket  of  water  from  the  pump  ?  Boys 
who  can  see  their  mothers  work  like  slaves, 
while  they  stay  idle,  never  come  to  good. 

You  must  remember  that  you  are  getting 
ready  to  earn  your  own  living,  and  that  read- 
ing, writing,  and  arithmetic  will  help  you  to  do 
that.  And,  while  you  are  learning  geography, 


AT    SCHOOL    AGAIN.  265 

do  not  forget  to  learn  the  geography  of  the 
place  where  you  live.  Learn  the  streets,  the 
names  of  the  business  firms  in  them,  so  that 
you  could  make  a  map,  if  called  on.  There 
was  a  boy,  the  other  day,  who  wanted  a  place 
very  much.  His  mother  was  a  widow.  He 
answered  an  advertisement.  His  hand-writing 
suited  the  advertiser.  He  seemed  "bright," 
and  the  advertiser  had  almost  concluded  to  take 
him,  so  he  asked  : 

' '  Do  you  know  geography  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  boy,  proudly.  "I 

studied  it  four  years  in  the  B St.  Public 

School." 

"Can  you  'bound'  Alaska,  and  tell  me  how 
high  the  Himalaya  Mountains  are?" 

"Of  course,  sir.     That's  easy." 

"But  I  have  no  business  with  Alaska  or 
India  ;  I  have  a  great  deal  with  the  firms  down 
town,  here  in  New  York.  Now,  how  can  you 
get  to  East  Broadway  ?  Where's  the  Chemical 
Bank  ?  Where's  Pearl  Street  ?  " 

The  boy  hesitated.  "I  guess  I  could  find 
them,  sir.  I  don't  know  where  they  are, 
though." 

The  man  shook  his  head.  He  did  not  want 
that  boy. 


IN  POVERTY  HOLLOW. 


IT  was   not   Tim   Murphy's  own  idea,  I  am 
bound  to  admit.     He  had  read  of  it  some- 
where ;  but,  as  he  made  good  use  of  it,  I  think 
he  deserves  credit.     At  any  rate,  he  had  all  he 
wanted  out  of  it. 

Tim  Murphy  lived  in  Poverty  Hollow.  Pov- 
erty Hollow  was  a  small  settlement  in  Carbon 
County,  Pennsylvania.  A  few  refugees  had 
settled  there  during  the  war.  They  were  very 
poor — they  had  come  up  from  South  Carolina 
with  only  the  clothes  they  had  on.  As  they 
were  so  very  poor,  the  settlement  took  its 
name  from  them.  After  a  time,  a  coal  mine 
was  found  near,  and  a  great  colony  of  Irishmen 
and  their  families  settled  there.  Plenty  of 
money  was  made  now,  but  the  place  still  kept 
its  name.  The  coal  mine  gave  out.  Oil  ap- 
peared farther  up  the  country,  and  Poverty 
Hollow  was  drained  of  most  of  its  inhabitants. 

266 


IN   POVERTY   HOLLOW.  267 

Some  stayed.  They  were  mostly  Catholics. 
Two  of  the  South  Carolinian  families  remained 
there  ;  they  had  become  Catholics  too,  through 
the  instrumentality  of  Father  Byrnes,  who 
died  just  as  Poverty  Hollow  began  to  lose  its 
people.  After  his  death,  a  priest  came  every 
month  to  say  Mass.  One  Sunday  Father 
Mooney  preached  on  the  necessity  of  reading 
Catholic  books. 

"You  ought  to  be  able  to  defend  your  faith," 
he  said.  "  I  am  sure  you  would  blush  for  me, 
if  you  saw  me  stand  silent,  ignorant,  and 
ashamed,  when  an  unbeliever  would  tell  lies 
about  the  Church.  Now  I  blush  sometimes 
when  I  see  how  ignorant  Catholic  boys — so 
bright  in  other  things — are  concerning  their 
religion.  '  Everybody  reads  the  story-papers,' 
you  say.  That  is  all  the  more  reason  why 
you  shouldn't  read  them.  You  must  set  f  every- 
body' an  example,  because  God  has  given  }rou 
the  gift  of  faith.  Read,  all  of  you  ;  read  good 
books." 

There  was  no  Catholic  book-store  in  Poverty 
Hollow.  There  were  not  three  Catholic  books, 
except  prayer-books,  in  the  place.  On  the 
same  Sunday  afternoon,  Father  Mooney  gave 
his  usual  monthly  instruction  to  the  boys  and 


268  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

girls.  After  the  serious  part  of  his  discourse 
was  over,  he  told  them  a  short  version  of 
"  Fabiola."  The  children  were  intensely  in- 
terested. He  told  them  he  wished  he  had 
more  time,  to  give  them  the  whole  story,  but 
that  they  might  find  it  in  a  book  written  by 
Cardinal  Wiseman. 

Tim  went  home  and  dreamed  about  Pancra- 
tius  and  Corvinius.  His  cheeks  glowed  as  he 
thought  of  the  sufferings  of  the  early  Chris- 
tians. Oh,  if  he  only  had  the  book  !  But  the 
book  was  not  to  be  found  in  Poverty  Hollow. 

Down  by  the  big  pond,  where  the  frogs  held 
their  concerts  at  night,  the  boys  of  Poverty 
Hollow  used  to  gather.  They  sang  songs, 
danced,  told  one  another  the  impossible  ad- 
ventures of  the  story-papers,  and  swore  a 
good  deal. 

Father  Mooney  saw  that  a  great  deal  of  evil 
was  caused  by  these  meetings ;  but  he  saw  no 
way  of  breaking  them  up,  for  the  boys  had 
nothing  to  do  at  home.  He  would  have  liked 
to  open  a  library  and  reading-room,  but  the 
three  missions  he  served  were  poor,  and  he 
could  not  ask  the  people  for  money  for  what 
they  would  have  considered  luxuries. 

Consequently  the  boys  and  girls  were  rather 


IN    POVERTY    HOLLOW.  269 

rough,  and  certainly  very  ignorant  of  their 
religion.  Some  of  them  knew  their  catechism 
tolerably  well ;  others  vaguely  remembered  it. 
On  the  Sundays  when  Father  Mooney  did  not 
come  to  Poverty  Hollow,  they  played  cards  in 
shady  places  in  the  fields  and  spent  what  money 
they  had  in  smoking  and  drinking.  They 
were  idle  and  listless,  with  no  idea  of  anything 
beyond  the  dime  novels  and  foolish  stories  they 
found  over  the  river. 

On  the  next  Sunday  that  Father  Mooney 
came  to  Poverty  Hollow,  the  boys  and  girls  of 
his  class  demanded  a  story.  Father  Mooney 
told  them  this  story  in  verse  : 

"  Dona  Inez  was  a  lady, 

Yery  rich  and  fair  to  see, 
And  her  heart  was  like  a  lily 

In  its  holy  purity; 
Through  the  widest  street  in  Cadiz, 

Dona  Inez  went  one  day, 
Clad  in  costly  silks  and  laces, 

With  a  group  of  friends  as  gay. 

"  Near  the  portals  of  a  convent  — 

From  the  Moors  just  lately  won  — 
Sat  a  crowd  of  dark-skinned  beggars, 

Basking  in  the  pleasant  sun, 
One  an  old  man  —  he  a  Christian  — 

Blind  to  all  the  outward  light  — 
Told  his  black  beads,  praying  softly 

For  all  poor  souls  still  in  night. 


270  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"  '  I  am  but  a  Moorish  beggar,' 

Said  a  woman  with  a  child ; 
*  I  am  but  a  Moorish  beggar, 

And  the  Moors  are  fierce  and  wild ; 
You  may  talk  of  Christian  goodness  — 

Christian  Faith  and  Charity; 
But  ril  never  be  a  Christian, 

Till  some  proof  of  these  I  see. 
Christians  are  as  proud  and  haughty 

As  the  proudest  Moor  of  all, 
And  they  hate  the  men  that  hate  them 

With  a  hate  like  bitter  gall.' 

"  '  You  judge  rashly,  O  my  sister, 
In  the  words  you  speak  to  me.' 
'  I  would  be  a  Christian,  blind  man,  —  , 
Show  me  Christian  charity !  ' 

"  '  Lo!  here  comes  proud  Dona  Inez, 

Very  rich  and  fair  to  see ; 
I  am  but  a  Moorish  beggar, 

Will  the  lady  come  to  me  ? 
No !  she  will  not,  for  she  hatetb. 

All  the  children  of  the  Moor; 
If  she  come,  I  tell  you,  blind  man, 

I  will  kneel  and  Christ  adore ! 

"  Passing  was  the  Lady  Inez 

When  the  dark  group  met  her  eye, 
And  she  leaned  from  out  her  litter 

Smiling  on  them  tenderly. 
'  They  are  poor;  they  are  God's  children,' 

Said  a  voice  within  her  soul, 
And  she  lightly  from  her  litter 
Stepped  to  give  the  beggars  dole. 


IN    POVEETY    HOLLOW.  271 

"  Sneered,  and  laughed,  and  laughing,  wondered 

All  the  other  ladies  gay ; 
And  the  Lady  Inez  knew  not 
She  had  saved  a  soul  that  day !  " 

After  that  Father  Mooney  told  them  how 
beautifully  God  had  formed  the  snow  crystal, 
and  how  the  singular  and  wonderful  forms  of 
created  things  were  shown  by  means  of  the 
microscope.  The  pupils  listened  breathlessly 
as  he  described  the  phosphorescent  light  on  the 
sea  at  night.  "The  works  of  God  are  mar- 
vellous," he  said.  "The  more  we  know  about 
them,  the  greater  our  love  for  Him  ought  to 
become."  Father  Mooney  told  them  other 
strange  stories.  He  said  they  might  all  be 
found  in  a  book  called  "Familiar  Science." 

Tim  Murphy,  in  his  Sunday  jacket,  which 
was  blue  with  brass  buttons  on  it,  walked  home 
with  Seth  Gudgron.  Seth  Gudgron  \vas  one 
of  the  boys  whose  fathers  had  come  from  South 
Carolina.  He  was  tall  and  thin,  with  light  hair 
and  eyebrows. 

' '  I  wish  the  priest  would  teach  us  every  day. 
The  stories  he  tells  helps  a  fellow  to  remember 
the  catechism.  I  wish  I  had  that  'ere  book 
about  the  snow.  I'd  read  it  in  the  evenings, 
and  make  mam  and  dad  open  their  eyes  ! " 


272  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

' ' Oh,  dear  ! "  said  Tim.  ' '  I  wish  I  had  both 
that  book  and  that  about  Pancratius.  I've  got 
a  dollar  and  ten  cents  saved  up.  I  wonder  if 
that  would  buy  both  in  the  city." 

"Guess  not,"  said  Seth,  thrusting  out  his 
long  wrist  about  half  a  foot  beyond  the  sleeve 
of  his  coat,  to  throw  a  stone  at  a  frog.  "But 
I  do  want  that  'Familiar  Science.'  I  never 
cared  much  for  books  before.  Who'd  think 
that  a  fly  was  almost  as  big  as  a  frog  under  the 
— the  miko " 

"Microscope,"  said  Tim. 

Tim's  father  was  the  butcher  of  Poverty 
Hollow.  He  never  had  time  to  read,  and  he 
burned  all  the  story-papers  that  Tim  brought 
home.  Tim's  mother  could  not  read ;  but, 
above  all  things,  she  liked  to  have  Tim  read 
her  prayer-book  to  her  at  night. 

"I  say,  Seth,  have  you  any  money?" 

"Yes,"  drawled  Seth,  "I've  got  two  dollars, 
— that  is,  dad's  got  them.  Mr.  Burke  paid  me 
for  helping  him  with  the  hay." 

Tim's  countenance  fell.  It  was  well  known 
that  Seth's  father  was  a  drunkard.  The  two 
dollars  were  probably  spent  long  ago. 

"I  thought,"  Tim  said,  "of  a  plan  I've  read 
about  somewhere.  If  you  bought  'Familiar 


IN    POVERTY    HOLLOW.  273 

Science,'  I'd  buy  'Fabiola,'  and  we  could  read 
both." 

Seth's  eyes  sparkled.    "That  would  be  nice." 

Just  then  Katie  Murphy  and  her  brother 
Dan  joined  them. 

"Wasn't  the  catechism  class  lovely  to-day?" 
she  said.  "Oh,  dear!  I  wish  I  could  read 
some  of  the  books  Father  Mooney  talks  about. 
Cousin  Grace  sent  me  a  very  exciting  book, 
'Alice ;  or  The  Escaped  Nun.'  But  it  was  a 
bad  book,  and  mother  tore  it  up.  I've  nothing 
to  read  except  the  old  school-books,  and  Father 
Mooney  forbids  us  to  read  the  story-papers. 

Seth  and  Tim  looked  guilty. 

Dan,  who  was  a  very  small  boy,  cried  out — 

"I  can't  read,  and  I  don't  want  to.  Reading 
makes  you  bow-legged." 

Seth  punched  Dan,  because  this  remark 
seemed  personal.  Katie  interfered  ;  and,  after 
a  time,  peace  was  restored. 

"Have  you  any  money,  Katie?" 

"Fifty  cents,"  said  Katie,  proudly.  "If  I 
had  enough,  I'd  buy  '  Felix  Kent.'  It  must  be 
a  lovely  story,  if  it's  anything  like  what  Father 
Mooney  told  us ;  and  I'd  like  to  buy  'Fabiola,' 
too.  Oh,  wasn't  that  lovely  about  the  blind 
girl,  Csecilia?" 


274  STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 

"I  have  a  plan,"  said  Tim.  "We  can  get 
the  books." 

"When  Christmas  comes  on  the  Fourth  of 
July,"  said  Seth. 

"No;  next  week.  We'll  put  our  money 
together,  and  send  it  to  New  York,  and  ask 
the  bookseller  to  send  us  the  three  books." 

"No  sir  —  ee,"  said  Seth.  "You  don't  get 
me  to  put  in  two  dollars  against  your  dollar- 
and-ten  and  Katie's  fifty.  I'm  not  so  green." 

Tim  reflected.  "  I  guess  you're  right.  We 
byos  will  each  put  in  a  dollar,  and  let  Katie 
put  in  her  fifty  cents,  because  she's  a  girl." 

Katie  looked  at  Seth,  anxiously. 

"All  right,"  he  said ;  "but  I  am  to  read  her 
book  as  soon  as  she  gets  done  with  it." 

"Very  well;  and  we'll  send  the  money  off 
to-morrow." 

"I'll  run  home  now  and  tell  dad  about  the 
microscope.  That'll  put  him  in  a  good  humor, 
and  he'll  give  me  the  dollar." 

Katie  tripped  home  lightly,  dragging  the 
obstinate  Dan  after  her.  She  was  to  read 
those  lovely  books.  She  was  very  happy. 
Her  mother,  being  told  that  Father  Mooney 
had  recommended  the  books,  made  no  objec- 
tion, though  she  said  she  thought  the  money 


IN   POVERTY   HOLLOW.  275 

might   be  spent   to  better  advantage  than  in 
buying  "fables." 

Seth's  father,  having  not  yet  spent  all  his 
wages — he  was  a  carpenter,  and  a  good  man 
when  he  was  sober — gave  the  boy  his  dollar. 
Tim's  father,  who  was  always  anxious  to  please 
his  son,  added  fifty  cents  to  the  fund ;  so  three 
dollars  were  sent  to  New  York.  Back  there 
came,  neatly  packed,  a  big  edition  of  "  Fabiola," 
with  pictures  ;  ' '  Familiar  Science  ; "  "  Felix 
Kent,"  and  the  prettiest  book  the  children  had 
ever  seen — "The  Shamrock  Gone  West,"  be- 
sides "Cottage  Conversations."  These  last  had 
been  added,  because  the  children — Tim  wrote 
the  note  —  had  explained  their  plan  to  the  pub- 
lisher. 

The  children  were  in  Tim  Murphy's  house — 
Katie  was  no  relation  of  Tim's — when  the  box 
arrived. 

Mr.  Murphy  watched  their  faces  when  it  was 
opened. 

"Sure,"  he  whispered  to  his  wife,  "It's 
worth  ten  dollars  to  see  them  now." 

And  it  was  !  Such  pleasure,  when  "Fabiola" 
was  pulled  out  I  And  then  the  cry  of  admira- 
tion when  "  The  Shamrock  Gone  West,"  with 
its  bunch  of  gold  primroses  on  the  dark  green 
cover,  came  to  light,  was  delightful ! 


276  STORIES   AND    SKETCHES. 

It  happened — it  was  on  Saturday  afternoon 
when  the  box  came,  and  there  was  no  school — 
that  Dick  Blake,  whose  father  was  the  richc.st 
man  in  Poverty  Hollow,  but  who  never  went 
to  Church,  was  there.  He  seized  "Fabiola" 
at  once. 

"This  is  just  what  I  wanted  to  find,"  he 
said,  turning  to  page  nine  and  reading  Pancra- 
tius'  story  of  his  quarrel  with  Corvinius. 

"Yes,"  he  read,  "and  was  the  cause  of  my 
delay.  For  when  we  went  forth  from  school 
into  the  field,  he  addressed  me  insultingly 
in-  the  presence  of  our  companions,  and  said, 
'Come,  Pancratius,  this  is,  I  understand,  the 
last  time  we  meet  here  (he  laid  a  particular 
emphasis  on  the  word)  ;  but  I  have  a  long 
score  to  demand  payment  of  from  you '" 

"No  you  don't!"  said  Seth,  closing  the 
book.  "  You  can't  read  that  book  unless  you 
buy  one,  too.  Wasn't  that  the  rule  you  laid 
down,  Tim?" 

"Yes,"  said  Tim.  "  It  looks  mean,  I  know, 
but  we  want  to  read  all  the  good  books  we  can, 
and  every  fellow  that  comes  in  must  bring  in  a 
good  book." 

Dick's  face  brightened.  "All  right!  Just 
let  me  see  what  Corvinius  did  to  Pancratius, 


TN   POVERTY    HOLLOW.  277 

and  I'll  bring  over  « The  Red-headed  Detective  ; 
or,  Old  Sleuth  Still  on  the  Trail ! '  It's  boss  !  " 

"Xo,  no!"  said  Katie.  "Father  Mooney 
wouldn't  let  us  read  it.  Our  books  must  be 
all  good." 

Dick,  after  a  slight  grumble,  went  out. 

Tim  sat  down  to  read  "Fabiola,"  after  his 
chores  were  done.  Katie  took  home  "Felix 
Kent,"  and  Seth  rushed  home  with  "Familiar 
Science."  The  other  books  were  left  in  Tim's 
keeping. 

For  the  first  time  in  many  years,  Seth 
Gudgron's  father  stayed  at  home  that  night, 
while  the  boy  read  aloud  explanation  after 
explanation  of  the  things  around  him.  Some 
experiments  were  tried.  Seth's  father  learned 
with  amazement  of  all  these  new  wonders. 
His  mother  silently  thanked  God. 

Katie  read  aloud  the  first  chapters  of  "Fab- 
iola" to  three  girls,  who  stayed  at  home  with 
her,  instead  of  roaming  about  Poverty  Hollow 
in  the  dark. 

On  the  next  Monday,  Dick  Blake  brought 
the  money  to  buy  "The  Lion  of  Flanders," 
which  Father  Mooney  had  recommended.  Two 
girls,  friends  of  Katie,  added  a  dollar  each, 
and  two  other  good  books  were  bought. 


278 


STORIES    AND    SKETCHES. 


Dick  Blake's  father  dipped  into  ' '  Fabiola  " 
one  night,  and  became  so  interested  that  he 
stayed  up  reading  it  until  two  o'clock. 

"Mary,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  "I  think  I'll 
try  to  be  a  better  Catholic.  Surely,  what  the 
early  Christians  were  willing  to  die  for,  is 
worth  living  for." 

"Thank  God  !"  said  Mrs.  Blake. 

Tim  Murphy  was  happy.  As  soon  as  Father 
Mooney  recommended  a  new  book,  it  was 
added  to  the  library.  In  less  than  two  months 
there  were  twenty-five  books  in  circulation, 
and  a  change  was  perceptible  in  the  contrib- 
utors—  a  change  which  Father  Mooney  was 
delighted  to  see.  Tim  felt  that  his  plan  had 
succeeded. 


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